


Good Omens 30th Celebration Ficlets

by megzseattle



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Ancient Egypt, Crowley's long nap, Good Omens Celebration 2020, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Mesopotamia, Performance Reviews, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Protective Crowley (Good Omens), medieval florence, the early arrangement
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:20:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 32,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23975140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megzseattle/pseuds/megzseattle
Summary: A series of short snippets and ficlets about our favorite angel and demon to go along with the Good Omens Celebration 2020 tag list being hosted on Tumblr. Gohere to read the overall themes list!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 424
Kudos: 162
Collections: Good Omens Celebration





	1. Prompt: In the Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Aziraphale and Crowley find themselves strangely affected by that one conversation held on the walls of Eden.

Five days after the end of Eden, Aziraphale roused himself from sleep late at night not quite sure where he was. It returned to him slowly. He first realized that he was lying on a stone surface. _Could be the wall,_ he thought. Then he noticed that there was light from a fire flickering on his closed eyelids.

He opened his eyes and remembered. He was in a cave. With a fire. And with a murmur of voices nearby. Ah, yes then, he thought. He was with the humans.

He probably shouldn’t be there. They needed a chance to thrive on their own, without constant angelic intervention. It was just so hard to see them, veritable children, not even two weeks old, cast out into the world all alone. After he’d closed up the hole in the wall, he’d found himself trailing after them. They’d had a day or two head start on him, but he found them easily enough. Not so hard to do, when they were literally the only humans on earth. All one had to do was close one’s eyes and concentrate on that distinctly human life force of equal parts love, worry, and pride. 

He’d arrived at their camp, taught them a few things about building a fire without the use of the flaming sword, showed them how to plant a seed, and offered a hand where he could. They listened, wide eyed, to everything he shared with them, and carefully began testing it all out. He was immensely proud of them.

Today, though, he would have to move out. Find his own shelter – nearby, of course, but not right on top of them. They needed a chance to try their wings, so to speak.

He sat up and stretched, and then struck out the front of the cave to have a look around at where he might go next. The humans had settled near a small river that formed a stand of vegetation in the midst of the desert, with a strong rock wall behind it that offered some shelter. With his excellent eyesight, he could see a suitable outcropping about a half hour’s walk to the west. He would try there. 

\--

Crawly returned to Hell shortly after the apple fiasco, expecting trouble. There was always trouble in Hell. To his surprise, he made a rather triumphant return. News of his exploits had reached all corners of the place, and even the demons that most liked to torment him were suitably impressed.

_The Serpent of Eden,_ they started to call him. He rather liked the sound of that.

“So, Crawly,” Beelzebub said, a rare smile on her face. “You managed to make the new humanzz betray their God and get kicked out of Eden all within the space of seven dayzz. Nice work.”

“It required a lot of intricate planning,” Crawly said. “Quite tricky.”

“I would imagine,” said Dagon. “How did you think of it, the apple?”

“Just came to me,” Crawly said, effecting an effortless shrug.

He received an official commendation and an official title upgrade. They even attempted a parade of dishonor, although, being Hell, it was a sad and paltry affair in which several factions broke out into open warfare and used the trombones to throttle and kill at least a quarter of each other’s members.

No more parades, the next missive from Lower Management said. Not ever.

After things died down, Crawly found himself at loose ends. While it was pleasant to be looked up to, he had to admit that it was hard to find oneself trapped down below again after being up on Earth. He missed the fresh air. He missed trees. And he certainly had no true interest in fighting and tormenting other demons, which seemed to be all anyone ever got up to down here.

What plagued him the most, though, were unwelcome thoughts about the angel. He racked his memory trying to figure out if he’d gotten his name. The image of the angel’s face kept appearing to him, unbidden, at the most inconvenient times. Those blue eyes, and the way his forehead wrinkled in distress when he admitted he’d given the sword away. That wing, arched over him to protect him from rain. He had _smiled_ at him. 

He wasn’t interested. It was just, he told himself, that the angel was clearly in over his head. Utterly unprepared for the job. He hoped that he wasn’t getting himself into too much trouble.

He should probably go check.

\-- 

Aziraphale found his way to the outcropping he’d spotted and set about making himself a shelter of sorts. With a little trial and error and a few liberal applications of his powers, he was able to carve out a comfortable cave-like dwelling for himself, complete with a rudimentary reed door and a rather comfortable sleeping pallet. All in all, he was rather satisfied with his first attempt.

_He would have to show it to the serpent_ , his brain whispered.

Aziraphale halted, hands on hips. “What?” he shouted at himself. “What in the name of the almighty was that about? I don’t think that’s a proper thing for us to be thinking at all.”

Us being, of course, him and his brain. When angel is one of only three human-shaped beings in the world, there aren’t many options for conversation. Talking to yourself was almost expected.

Why was he thinking about the demon? They’d had one conversation. Yes, it was a rather interesting conversation, but it meant nothing. They were on opposite sides. They were enemies.

It was just, he thought, that it was rather lonely being the sole observer here. The angels guarding the western, southern, and northern gates had all left immediately when Eden’s doors were shuttered. Most of them had never wanted to be down there to begin with. If God was forsaking the humans, they thought, so were they.

Aziraphale didn’t see it that way. He didn’t think God was forsaking the humans. He thought, perhaps, that God was turning them loose to see what they could become. He found himself thinking about the demon’s point about why the apple tree had been left right smack-dab in the middle of the garden, where anyone could reach it. It was almost as if it had been intended to happen. Whatever the intent, he intended to stick to his designated purpose. Safeguard the humans, he’d been told. That didn’t necessarily end because they left the cradle.

A few weeks later, he loaded up a few of the fruits and berries he’d gathered, as well as a fish or two, and headed upstream to where Adam and Eve had made their camp. Just a quick checkin, he told himself. They were shyly happy to see him, thrilled with his gifts, and insisted that he stay for a meal.

He headed for home just as the sun was beginning to break below the clouds in its gradual descent.

\--

Crawly managed to use his newfound status to get the job assignment he wanted within just a few short weeks. Official emissary to humans, the paperwork said. Monitor until further notice. It was an indefinite assignment, open-ended. Most likely this was because no one really expected the humans to survive very long. It was a vast and dangerous world, full of animals and weather and terrors. Lucifer probably expected Crawly to observe them for a few months until they eventually starved or were eaten by bears, and then report back to Below for his next assignment.

Crawly didn’t think so. He had seen something in those fragile humans – a spark of hope and resilience he hadn’t seen before. They had something that both angels and demons didn’t – they could see possibilities in even the smallest of things. He suspected that they had powers that the forces of darkness had no inkling of. Creation, begetting and destroying, facing down the darkness in ways they hadn’t imagined yet.

And he knew something that Hell did not. He knew, or at least suspected, that the angel was still among them. He’d already turned his back on his orders in a rather spectacular way. What was to stop him from refusing to return to Heaven all together? And if Heaven was going to have a representative guiding the humans, it was only fair that Hell had one as well.

And that representative was definitely going to be him.

\--

Aziraphale completed the walk back to his abode at a leisurely pace. After all, what was there to hurry for? There was no one to talk to there, and so no reason to rush. As a result, the sun was nearly down when he got home. He unburdened himself of the various rocks and pieces of wood he’d picked up along the way to shore up his fire, and then blinked when he realized that his cave was already illuminated, although not from the inside. Someone had made a fire outside the doorway, and there was a dark shape huddled near it.

His heart pounded in his chest. Was it one of the angels, come to drag him home? Was it another demon, here to smite him? He’d been led to believe that demons lived to smite angels after all.

“Hello?” he called. “Who’s there?”

A lanky shape unfolded itself from the fire and stood silhouetted against the darkening sky behind him.

“Hello, Angel,” said a familiar voice.

A rush of pleasure and a sense of what was almost relief rushed over Aziraphale as he stepped forward into the light.

“Hello, Demon,” he said. “How nice to see you again!”

It was the start, he thought, of something interesting. He had a hunch.


	2. Prompt: Contrast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A date night over spaghetti and breadsticks leads to a deeper understanding.

The nice thing about demons, Crowley thought, was that they were a relatively consistent lot. They didn’t, as a rule, tend to put on a lot of airs and graces. Face value, most of the time; what you saw was what you got. It saved a lot of time, not having to try to figure out if the demon you were dealing with was likely to double cross you – generally, they were. If they seemed to dislike you, they did. They weren’t hiding deeper feelings under a vulnerable shell.

No, just leave that to angels. One angel in particular.

Crowley sat across the table from Aziraphale and watched as he enjoyed a rather large plate of spaghetti at their favorite neighborhood Italian restaurant. Aziraphale was frequently the exact opposite of an open book. In public he was meticulously polite, scrupulously kind, always fulfilling expectations. Look at him just now, for heaven’s sake. The waitress had just topped off his water glass for the third time – was it honestly necessary to hit her with that degree of angelic warmth and gratitude? It was just water, after all. But Aziraphale had had six millennia of training in attempting (and often failing) to meet the exacting demands of excruciatingly picky superiors, and he was always, to some degree, performing when they were out in public.

Hard to believe, he thought wryly, that this was the same angel who had just an hour ago thrown a pile of dirty laundry at him and then threatened to send it into a supernova a few light years away if he didn’t ‘just deal with it, Crowley, for heaven’s sake’.

“What are you thinking?” Aziraphale asked him fondly. “You look pensive.”

Crowley leaned forward with his chin on one hand and toyed idly with his wine glass.

“Just about you. About how you are in public and how you are at home.”

Aziraphale colored. “Is this about the laundry?” he said. “I’m sorry, love, I was just…”

“Hungry?” Crowley suggested with a hint of a smile.

“Possibly,” the angel admitted. “And temporarily flustered. You know I hate mess.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow at that. Here lay another contradiction; how on earth could the being who piled books and scrolls and notebooks and random sheets of paper sky high on every available surface possibly consider himself not messy, and condemn him, a simple demon, for leaving a few socks and shirts on the bathroom floor?

“I was thinking,” Crowley said, speaking in the emotional shorthand of one who is sure his meaning could not possibly be misinterpreted, “about how you’re so proper and polite out in public and so different at home.” 

Aziraphale’s blush deepened and he put down his fork. “I’m rude, you mean. To you.” It was more a statement than an accusation.

Crowley’s brain made a record-scratch noise as he wondered how Aziraphale could possibly misunderstand him so badly. Was it deliberate? It could be. The angel was just enough of a bastard to pull that off. But no, he looked sincerely concerned. And he was sincerely misunderstanding.

“Angel,” Crowley said. “It’s not a _complaint._ I’m glad you’re not all prim and proper with me. If you think for one second I want a husband who is always polite and kind to me, you may have not been paying as close attention as you think you have all of these years.”

The angel smiled a little and dropped his gaze to the table in embarrassment. “Oh you,” he said.

Crowley leaned in a little closer. “I’m delighted that you tell me to sod off from time to time,” he said quietly. “All I ever wanted, really. The real you. Not all the –“ he waved his hand around in a vague gesture that was hard to interpret.

Aziraphale, for once, didn’t even pretend not to get his meaning. His chin wobbled in that way it did when he was especially happy and especially moved.

“Thank you, my dear, what a lovely thing to say.” The angel beamed at him. “I feel just the same.”

Crowley, a little overwhelmed by the emotional discussion he’d just started, took the opportunity to steal a breadstick off of Aziraphale’s plate and stuff at least half of it into his mouth.

“Mmmfffmmmfff,” he mumbled, pointing at his mouth with an apologetic grimace. Universal demon speak for: Can’t talk. Mouth full. 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes good-naturedly and picked up his own fork again with a happy sigh. “I predict that I will continue to tell you to sod off for years to come, my dear. You can put it in your diary.”

Crowley thought he just might.


	3. Prompt: Unexpected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The roles they take in the Dowling household are not quite what anyone would have expected.

“We have to find a way to get ourselves into the Dowling household,” Aziraphale said. “Some way to be integral in their day to day life, so we can affect events. Bend his development.”

Crowley thought for a minute. “Well, they’ll probably need childcare,” he said. “We could be governesses.”

“We can’t both be governesses,” Aziraphale reproved. “Perhaps _I_ could be the governess and _you_ could be the groundskeeper or something.”

Something about this struck Crowley as dangerous. It wasn’t that Aziraphale wasn’t good with children; it was rather that he was a bit too good. Having him present every night as the child was going to bed and waking up and comforting him when he fell and nursing him when he was sick was likely to be just a bit too – angelic. The goal wasn’t to influence him completely to one side or the other, after all, but just to push and pull him enough in each direction so that he ended up walking a middle path. Not hellish, not heavenly – just human.

“No,” Crowley said. “I should be the governess. Or a nanny, rather. Governesses come later, when they’re older, and we aren’t talking about that kind of timeframe. We’ll create a gardener position for you.”

“But – I’m a terrible gardener!” Aziraphale complained.

“That’s why it’s so perfect!” Crowley said. “It’s completely unexpected. Heaven and Hell will never figure out what we’re up to.”

Aziraphale stared at him for a moment, unconvinced, but then shrugged. “I … I suppose I could read a few books on horticulture,” he said uncertainly.

That was as good as assent, in Crowley’s book. He got to work on making their plans a reality.

\--

The books on horticulture did not help. Aziraphale, for all of the fact that he’d been created to serve in the garden of gardens, continued to be one of the worst plant stewards in the world. He couldn’t bring himself to make the difficult, almost ruthless decisions required to keep a garden flourishing – he couldn’t cull the weaker plants, pull out the prettiest of the weeds, or ruthlessly cut things back the way he needed to. He wouldn’t willingly use chemicals that were sorely needed because he didn’t want to injure the bugs and wildlife. Under his care, the Dowling’s gardens became an overgrown, chaotic mess.

Nanny Ashtoreth was sitting in the kitchen with her two year old charge one morning, trying to encourage him to put food into his mouth instead of in his hair, when Mrs. Dowling stopped at the French doors in the kitchen and looked out.

“Do the azaleas look a bit overgrown to you?” she asked Nanny Ashtoreth. “And are the perennial beds supposed to be so brown? Honestly, I know he’s a friend of yours but I’m not sure this new gardener is working out. Perhaps I should call Janine and see who she uses…”

Nanny Ashtoreth grabbed a banana that was rapidly being squeezed into mush away from Warlock and handed him a small piece of toast in exchange. Warlock retaliated by smearing the residual banana mush directly into his hair while nanny was distracted.

“Oh,” she said, “I believe he’s trying a series of new techniques from Japan. It’s the latest thing, you let things grow a bit beyond their usual shape and size before you prune them and the roots are much stronger for it. And the brown bits are just the daffodils forming good roots for next year. He’ll be tying the old leaves up into neat bundles soon so they’re less obvious.”

Mrs. Dowling made a noncommittal noise and continued to peer worriedly out the door, so Crowley had no choice but to use a small miracle to smoothe away her worries and make the yard look perfect to her. But he made a mental note to go see Aziraphale as soon as he could and put the fear of – well, in this case, the fear of God into him about the job he was doing with the plants. It wouldn’t do at all for Aziraphale to get himself let go.

\--

After morning enrichment time, during which Nanny ostensibly played Mozart for the toddler but really read him a long and fascinating story about demonic possession, Nanny Ashtoreth frog marched the two of them out to the garden and tracked down the gardener.

Crowley plunked Warlock down in the grass, where he began tasting a pile of rocks, one by one. This was an activity that Crowley approved of, so he made no move to stop him.

“Aziraphale,” he hissed. “You’re going to get yourself sacked.” He looked around and gestured wildly. “Just look at this place!”

Aziraphale glanced around him, confused. “It’s not so bad!” he protested. “All the plants are very happy and there’s just a plethora of new leaf growth in all of them, and there’s a lovely set of new caterpillars who have just arrived, and the rabbits are populating nicely –”

“Those caterpillars are going to eat the roses to the ground, Aziraphale. They’re noxious pests!”

The angel bristled. “They’re God’s creatures, as much as anything else, and they are worthy of our –”

“Oh for Satan’s sake,” Crowley hissed, snapping his fingers and sending all of the caterpillars three estates over. “Mrs. Dowling was thinking about replacing you this morning. I smoothed things over, but I can’t manage that forever if you utterly refuse to do your job.”

“Well perhaps we should switch, then,” Aziraphale said with a touch of bitchiness. “You know this isn’t my area. I can’t be mean to innocent plants.”

No, Crowley thought. He couldn’t. He’d known it coming in, if he was honest with himself. He’d just hoped that perhaps the angel could bring himself to be a bit of a bastard to plant life. For the sake of the future of humanity, as it were. But apparently the angel couldn’t bring himself to yell at an iris or threaten an invertebrate even if the fragile peace between Heaven and Hell lay in the balance.

It shouldn’t be unexpected, he thought, but yet it was. He’d thought the angel could have set aside his scruples for the larger picture. After all it wasn’t like he had to actually yell at the plants. He had access to miracles and could make the garden a showy success in whatever manner he liked. But then again, he thought, doing so on a daily basis and using his angelic powers to keep it that way might attract the wrong sort of attention, so perhaps the angel was being prudent in keeping Heaven’s attention away from his efforts here.

Crowley heaved a deep sigh. “All right,” he said. “You take Warlock down into the hedge maze for a while and I’ll see what I can do to shore things up here, okay? I’m going to need at least a couple of hours to get the perennial beds cleared up. And don’t go ruining all of my work afterwards by telling all the plants how wonderful they look. It will just go to their heads.”

Aziraphale beamed at him in delight. “Oh _thank_ you,” he said. “I do so greatly appreciate it, my dear.”

He scooped up Warlock, removed a number of rocks from his mouth, and headed off deeper into the property with him.

Crowley had the sinking sensation that this had all been some elaborate ruse to get the demon to do all of Aziraphale’s work for him. This, he thought, would not be unexpected at all.

He shrugged. The number of prunes he’d fed Warlock at breakfast should quickly provide him with quite an effective method of revenge on the angel. He planned to make himself quite difficult to find when that nappy had to be changed.

The angel would never see that one coming.


	4. Prompt: Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale realizes he might have a little PTSD from the events of the body swap. Crowley helps him put himself back together.

It was a perfectly ordinary summer’s evening. They were at a public concert at St. James Park – lounging on their blanket on the grass and listening to a military brass band play Sousa marches. Aziraphale loved Sousa marches; they were thrilling, he thought, and always roused in him a feeling of vigor and pride, like he should hop up and guard something.

Perhaps, in retrospect, that was why it happened.

They were just lying there, minding their own business, while other humans and their families and loved ones did the same. Crowley was rummaging through the picnic basket in search of a corkscrew when a number of unruly children came caterwauling across the corner of their blanket and all but fell into his lap.

Crowley blinked at the two youngsters who were essentially tangled up in his legs. “Careful there,” he said, reaching out a hand to one. The kid took it and pulled himself upright, freeing the smaller child who was trapped under him. They looked like they were possibly seven or eight, both boys.

“Thanks mister,” the smaller one said. The older one, showing no such good manners, smirked at him, stuck out his tongue, and leapt away. And then they were off like a flash, rejoining a group of probably six other children who were dashing around throwing things and, in Aziraphale’s mind, being rather a nuisance. He watched them for a moment as they tackled each other in the spaces between concert-goers, then returned his attention to the music.

“Are you all right, love?” the angel asked.

“Of course. Just a couple of kids.”

“Little hellions,” Aziraphale sniffed, taking another sip of the lovely chilled Riesling they had brought. “Where _are_ their parents?”

The music ended after another half hour, and many of their fellow enthusiasts packed up and left right away. Crowley and Aziraphale stayed to finish the last little bit of their wine and enjoy the warm air. On their way out, they suddenly found themselves surrounded by the same group of children – this time with their parents nearby. They all looked rather worse for the wear, Aziraphale thought, in the way of children who are up past their bedtimes and have had too much sugar and sunshine. All except the one who had stuck his tongue out before, who still seemed like he had a strange glint in his eye.

“Well hello there, you,” Crowley said, leaning down to eye level to face the two children who had stumbled over them earlier. “Did you have a good time?”

The little rugrat responded by pulling a water gun out from behind her back and pointing it at Crowley’s face. And in the moment when the child’s finger began to pull back on the trigger and Crowley instinctively began to rear back --

Time stopped around them. A blazing light shot out from what seemed like all directions at once and the humans quivered to an instant stop.

Crowley looked up to find that the angel in full battle glory, wings and eyes aglitter with a blinding intensity, had inserted himself between Crowley and the child, from whose water gun a small stream of liquid now hung motionless in the air like so many drops of misshapen diamonds. He flung a hand backwards at Crowley, pushing him further behind him, and rounded on the child.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley shouted. He knew how hard it was to get the angel’s attention when his blood was thrumming for battle. He took a step forward and tugged on the angel’s arm. “Angel! ANGEL!”

Aziraphale turned to look at him and faltered.

“What are you doing, angel?” Crowley asked frantically. “Stop. It’s just a child.”

“Water,” Aziraphale intoned, his voice a combination of musical notes and vibrations that would have struck terror into the heart of any being who wasn’t used to it. “Could be holy. A trick. A plot.”

“You’re not going to smite a little boy, Aziraphale,” Crowley said reasonably, praying to whoever might be listening that it was true. “I know you. You’re not. That’s way more force than this situation requires. You know that.”

Aziraphale dropped to a crouch beside the child and put a glowing finger into the droplets, then took a quick taste.

“It’s just water,” he said, shaking his head. “What am I doing?”

Crowley pulled him back up to his feet by the shoulders and into a tight hug. It hurt, a bit, hugging the angel when he was leaking this much avenging heavenly energy, but some things couldn’t be helped. Aziraphale allowed himself to be hugged but did not move to wrap his arms around his friend in return.

The demon concentrated, sending as much calmness and warmth through the link between them as he could. It’s okay, he tried to say with his touch. I’m safe. I’m right here.

After a few moments, the angel visibly relaxed a tad or two, and pulled his wings and extra eyes that were part of his fighting form back into his physical shell, extinguishing most of the light flowing out of him.

“I suppose we should undo this mess,” he said, looking embarrassed.

“Since when can you stop time, anyways?” Crowley asked. “I thought that was my thing.”

“Oh, I didn’t really,” Aziraphale said, pointing to the figures near them. “I just slowed them way down. See? Still moving.”

Crowley bent in for a closer look and did notice that the stream of water was moving infinitesimally slowly.

He stood back and took a closer look at the angel, noting his intense embarrassment and unease. “How about a magic trick?” he said quietly. “We’ll just pop ourselves home a second before you restore the normal flow of time.”

“That will be quite shocking to the family, Crowley,” Aziraphale said disapprovingly.

“Eh, look at them – the only one that’s even looking is the kid. It will give him quite a story!”

Aziraphale shrugged. “It might be best,” he said. “I don’t know how to explain any of this anyways.”

Crowley held Aziraphale’s elbow in his left hand and raised his right to snapping position. “Ready?” he said.

“Ready,” Aziraphale said.

A fraction of a second later, they materialized in the bookshop. In the park, a very surprised eight-year-old boy watched as the man in front of him vanished into thin air and the water from his gun hit the grass without impediment.

“Mom! Mom!” he shouted. “Did you see that man disappear? I swear, he was just right here!”

\--

Crowley took a while getting Aziraphale settled. He was a bit subdued. Nearly smiting a child for no reason would do that to anyone, Crowley thought. He needed to get some tea into him, and he needed to get him talking.

Tea was the more immediate issue, so he tackled that first. And just as he thought, once tea was applied directly to the issue at hand, the words were not far behind.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered in anguish. “Why did I do that? I nearly hurt a child.”

“A child who surprised us both with a water gun that we didn’t know he had,” Crowley said.

“A water gun is a _perfectly_ normal thing for a child to be playing with in the summer at the park!” Aziraphale said. “I didn’t even think, I just saw that water coming at you and thought of – and thought of –”

“The bathtub,” Crowley said quietly. “And the last time we were caught unawares in a park.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, slumping against the couch in a posture most unlike him.

Crowley felt his heart swell at the sight of the angel’s dejection.

“Angel,” he said gently. “We’ve been through a lot. Heaven and Hell trying to kill us, Satan showing up to smack us both down, God herself missing in action, averting a war with hardly any help from anyone. You’re allowed to have a little – what do they call it? Post traumatic stress.”

Aziraphale perked up a little. “Oh, I’ve heard of that. Shell shock, they called it in the Great War. Of course you were asleep then. But I did try to help rather a large number of lovely young fellows through that after the trenches. Most of them eventually recovered.”

“And so will you,” Crowley said. “And we have each other, to keep an eye on things and make sure nothing bad happens.”

“Our side,” Aziraphale said.

“That’s right.”

The angel took a deep breath and Crowley felt the stress seeping out of him.

“Thank you, though,” the demon said lightly, “for keeping me dry. Water would’ve destroyed this jacket. The cleaning bill would’ve been murder.”

The angel cracked a tiny grin. “You _are_ going to go on about this, aren’t you?”

“Might,” Crowley affirmed, “from time to time. It’s just too good to pass up.”


	5. Prompt: Miscommunication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven makes an unfortunate typo in a reprimand, and Aziraphale and Crowley take full advantage of it.

**Friday morning, Earth**

“I got the strangest memo today,” Aziraphale said one morning at breakfast.

Crowley wasn’t quite awake enough to focus on memos, to be honest, but he was trying. He downed his espresso in one gulp and set about getting the machine set up to make another.

“From who?” he finally said.

“Gabriel, supposedly, but I think perhaps he’s got a new intern, some low-ranking angel who’s not quite up to speed on using the computer systems yet.”

“Whatsitsay?” Crowley mumbled, poking buttons wildly on the espresso machine until something started to happen.

“It says,” Aziraphale said with a hint of laughter in his voice, “that for the love of God, Aziraphale, can you please exorcise all restraint in your interactions with the demon Crowley.”

Crowley grinned, suddenly much more awake. “Exorcise restraint? Not exercise?”

Aziraphale grinned back. “Yes indeed.”

“So – you received an official reprimand letter from the wanker you no longer work for, telling you to please, for the love of god, remove all of your inhibitions, burn the modesty out of you, and go hog wild with the demon Crowley?”

Aziraphale smoothed down his waistcoat. “I believe that’s the long and the short of it.”

“Oh,” Crowley said. “Well I believe we should write a rather detailed field report on how you fulfilled those orders to the letter.”

“I think that would be most enjoyable,” Aziraphale said with a predatory smile. “Where should we begin?”

“Where’s that kama sutra book you hide away from the customers?” Crowley said.

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow and went off to look for it.

\--

**Sunday morning, Above**

Up in Heaven, in the bowels of the smallest office, the angel Naviel watched the two printers he was in charge of grind away, one spitting out short tabs of paper that listed, line by line, each miracle used on Earth. This was quite a dull job, generally.

The other was essentially the inbox for Heaven. All incoming documents arrived there and were routed by Naviel through interoffice pneumatic tubes to their proper locations. Unless they were very, very sensitive, and then he delivered them carefully and in person.

The letter that arrived this morning appeared to fall in the latter category.

“Oh my,” he said, reading it over. His coworker over at one of the many incoming prayer desks looked up.

“You all right over there, Nav?” she asked in concern. “You look pale.”

Naviel swallowed down the urge to fling the paper across the room to her. “How long has it been since Gabriel discorporated a messenger angel?”

His coworker narrowed her eyes, trying to remember. “I think he’s only done it twice. Which really isn’t that much at all, considering how long we’ve been at this.”

“I think he’s going to make it three today,” Naviel said. “If … if I don’t come back, please take over my printers, would you?”

His coworker, momentarily distracted by an uptick in transmissions on her own devices, nodded distractedly.

Naviel gathered the customary silver tray, placed the letter on it, and hurried off to Gabriel’s office.

\--

**Friday evening, Earth**

On Earth, a certain angel and demon came up for air, flushed and breathless after working their way through a remarkable number of increasingly acrobatic combinations of an amorous nature.

“Care for some sushi, angel?” Crowley said.

“Why, I think I could be tempted,” Aziraphale said with a grin. “But only if we get an amount that is truly, truly indecent. Might as well add gluttony to the list.”

Crowley grinned wolfishly. “I’ll feed it to you piece by piece, angel,” he said. “We’ll combine gluttony, sloth, and lust all in one go.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Oh, I so hope you’re keeping a list. I do need to report all of this accurately.”

\--

**Sunday morning, Above**

Naviel knocked on Gabriel’s door and entered nervously when Gabriel bellowed. Gabriel was seated behind his immense mahogany desk, adjusting his hair in a pocket mirror. He hardly even looked up when Naviel entered.

“Field report for you, sir,” Naviel said hesitantly. “From the Principality.”

“I’m busy,” Gabriel said. “Read it to me.”

Naviel swallowed. “I- I’d rather not, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Gabriel lowered his mirror and stared at Naviel, taking him in for the first time. “Nar – Nad – what was your name again?”

“Naviel, sir.”

“Right!” He gave the clerk a broad and insincere smile. “Don’t be a drip. Do your job and read it to me, okay?”

Naviel knew enough about Gabriel to know he should definitely not push back any further if he didn’t want to be demoted to cleaning duty. “If you insist, sir,” he said, clearing his throat. He put the tray down on the corner of Gabriel’s desk, and picked up the papers in hands that he had to visibly try not to let tremble.

“ _My Dear Gabriel_ ,” he began. He looked up nervously and Gabriel motioned impatiently for him to continue, as he returned to examining his hairline in the mirror.

_“At last, a missive from you that I can firmly get behind, so to speak. I was delighted to receive your request for a complete cessation of all inhibitions and restraint in my dealings with the demon heretofore known as Crowley, now currently known to all and sundry as my spouse and the love of my life. As per your note, I took a few moments to excise the last remnants of modesty and restraint from my heart, and set about seeing what we could do to fulfill your instructions. The following is a rather thorough list of my activities over the last forty-eight hours. I know you do so prefer for me to be thorough in my reports.”_

\--

**Saturday afternoon, Earth**

Aziraphale stretched luxuriously and took a moment to admire the sight of his husband lying thoroughly debauched in their bed, his pale skin a lovely contrast to the dark blue linen sheets that were gathered around his hips. He ran a hand down his back and then hopped out of bed for a moment to pad downstairs and retrieve his favorite fountain pen and a few pieces of creamy stationery emblazoned with his winged crest.

He rejoined Crowley in the bed and leaned down to give him a kiss on the temple. Crowley murmured at him but made no effort to stir.

“Stay put, love,” Aziraphale said. “I have a letter to write. And I thought it might be a lovely bit of irony to use your beautiful, naked back as my writing desk. Would you mind terribly?”

Crowley chuckled. “Is this letter to a certain wankwings archangel?”

“But of course,” Aziraphale replied.

“Be my guest,” Crowley said. “But you have to read it aloud to me as you write.”

Aziraphale laid the paper on Crowley’s back, and began composing. “My Dear Gabriel,” he said aloud, writing in his tidy and extremely old-fashioned copperplate. “At last, a missive from you that I can firmly get behind, so to speak.”

Crowley snorted and Aziraphale patted his backside appreciatively.

“Hush now,” he said, “don’t go tempting me. And you have to hold still for this to work – do you or do you not want to know that Gabriel is holding a letter that was written on your naked body?”

Crowley smiled. His husband was the best bastard in the entire universe. He did his best to hold still.

\--

**Sunday morning, Above**

Naviel made it to the bottom of the first page, his face burning bright red and his tongue feeling dry as shoe leather and twice its usual size, as he read item after item on the world’s longest and most mortifying bullet list of debauchery.

Gabriel sat stony-faced at the desk, mirror forgotten, looking too shocked to even breathe. Not that he needed to. But he liked to keep up appearances.

Finally Naviel dared to take a slight break to cough and try to return some moisture to his tongue.

“That will be quite enough!” Gabriel shouted, returning to his senses and realizing that he was allowing another, lower angel to witness this moment of abject humiliation at the hand of his oldest and hardest-fought rival. “Leave it with me, I will read the rest.”

Naviel put the pages down in vast relief. “I do believe there are a few venn diagrams on the final pages that help to summarize some of the information,” he said. “If you’d care to send a response, I can return with the official letterhead –”

“That will NOT be necessary,” Gabriel said, waving a hand imperiously. “Leave me at once. Go!”

Naviel scurried for the door.

“And Nagriel?” Gabriel called after him.

“Navriel,” the lesser angel corrected him.

“Whatever,” Gabriel said. “Speak of this to anyone and I’ll ensure your memory is reset to the day you were made, do you understand me?”

“Absolutely sir, yes sir,” Navriel said, latching on to the doorknob like it was a life raft. He made it to the anteroom and closed the door behind him, then all but ran for his office.

That was a close one, he thought. He wondered if he could get transferred to the library division. Nothing bad ever happened in a library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I have to admit I had a LOT of fun with this one. :) I hope you laughed reading it!


	6. Prompt: Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale gets himself in a spot of bother at the museum. Luckily he knows exactly who to call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is super super short, friends - mostly because I started over not once, not twice, but three times on this one with a whole new idea each time. I blame work and life and a general level of distraction! Also, there is a distinct possibility that all of the PPE I'm having to wear all day at work right now is literally melting portions of my brain. Let me know if I start not forming full sentences anymore. :)

\--

The phone rang at three a.m., waking Crowley from a deep sleep. He rolled over and fumbled for the mobile on the nightstand and stabbed blindly at it hoping to accidentally answer it, before just waving a hand to turn it on and put it on speaker.

“Crowley, it’s me!” Aziraphale said, sounding frantic.

The demon came awake in a hurry.

“What?” he shouted. “Where are you, angel? What’s happening?”

“I’m – now don’t be angry, but I’m – I’m at the British Museum and I can’t get out.”

Crowley sat up. “You’re at the British Museum,” he said flatly.

“Yes.”

“At three in the morning.”

“Yes.”

“Being held prisoner?”

“No, not exactly.”

“Explain yourself, angel.”

The angel immediately started rambling about a scroll from Alexandria that he’d lost long ago, and how he’d had a rather low-level miracle running over the city of London for centuries now in case it showed up in any of the major collections, and the spell had been tripped that afternoon when a shipment arrived from Iran of major artifacts to be sorted into the museum’s collection.

“So, what, you broke into the museum in hopes of stealing it back?” Crowley asked.

“No of course not, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, a little insulted. “I entered perfectly legally this afternoon, even paid for the admission ticket, and had a lovely tea and visit with my friend who works as a clerk in the ancient near east acquisitions department.”

“And?”

“And then I hid in the bathroom near his office,” Aziraphale said. “Until they closed.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “So why can’t you just miracle yourself out of there?”

“They seem to have put in some precautions,” Aziraphale said, puzzled. “The floor that I’m on seems to be rather heavily shielded in some way I didn’t expect. And if I use any of the physical doors I’m going to set off a plethora of alarms. Oh dear, and wiping my image from all of the video cameras will be such an _abominable_ chore…” He paused and Crowley could all but hear the pout that was forming on his lips.

“Aziraphale, I think if you’re going to resort to a life of crime, you can’t be expecting demonic intervention every time something goes awry,” he said, just to be difficult. “Perhaps you should just settle in comfortably until morning.”

He felt the pout deepen on an entirely ethereal level.

“Well, I suppose you do have a point,” Aziraphale said sadly. “It’s just that it’s so terribly cold down here in the archives, and there’s no tea at all, and it’s simply been hours and hours since I’ve had anything to eat.”

Was it possible to hear eyelashes flutter over the phone? Crowley wasn’t sure if it was reality or his imagination filling in that detail.

“Fiiiiiiiiine,” he sighed, snapping on some clothing. “I’ll come and rescue you. But you’re going to owe me for this one, angel, it’s the middle of the night and I was having a really nice dream.”

“Oh, _thank_ you,” the angel said, somehow conveying a beaming smile with full dimples. “I would be most appreciative.”

“Be there soon,” Crowley said. “In the meantime, stay put, and start thinking about how long of a drive you’re going to take with me tomorrow at whatever speed I want to go without a single complaint, all right?”

Crowley knew the situation wasn’t dire, so he took a few minutes to problem solve before he went. Since the angel couldn’t break the wards, he guessed it was demonic in nature, which meant he ought to have a fairly easy time getting through. But just in case it was something more complex, he dug out a couple of books of Aziraphale’s that he thought might be helpful, and then headed out to the Bentley.

He paused with his hand on the drivers side door, then returned to the bookshop for a moment to grab a small piece of leftover cake from the kitchen. He placed it and a napkin in a small tartan tin, and then headed back out to the car.

All set for any foreseeable emergency, he set off to rescue his angel.


	7. Prompt: Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The God Anubis comes to collect Crowley after he runs afoul of the Pharaoh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok I missed a few days. Work is taking it's toll. :) But I'm going to catch up on 9 and 10 today and we will just pretend prompts 7 and 8 never existed. :) And honestly, I never intended to do #7 since it was AU, and I couldn't possibly outdo the AU I just finished at this point. So you've only missed one! 
> 
> Prompt list is here if you're interested: [GOC2020 Themes List](https://goodomenscelebration.tumblr.com/post/613128083123453952/here-is-the-primary-calendar-of-themes-for-the)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> ___________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Crowley looked up from his position chained to a large rock in the blazing sun and, through the shimmering waves of heat, saw what he first thought was the angel approaching him – but after blinking a bit to clear his thirst-addled vision, he noticed it was actually a dog-headed figure. Oh of course, he thought bitterly. Fucking Anubis was coming to escort him personally back to Hell. This would only happen to him. He did a quick mental calculation and realized he’d been chained out here for approximately 72 hours. His corporation was obviously giving out. He sighed, just thinking about the paperwork and the mockery awaiting him. 

“Demon Crowley,” Anubis announced loudly, crouching down beside him and giving off the strangest energy. “I have come to collect your soul.”

Crowley blinked and saw the pharaonic guards in the distance, face down on the sand in terror. Wasn’t everyday your average Egyptian saw the living embodiment of their god. He put out a cracked tongue to lick his lips, despite their utter lack of moisture, and encountered – grace?

“Crowley,” Anubis whispered. “Drink this, and then play dead.” The figure held a small vial up to the demon’s lips, shielding it carefully from the guard’s view with his body. Crowley, beyond being able to interpret the scene in front of him, shrugged and swallowed. Despite the vial’s small size, a rather considerable amount of water entered his mouth, and he sputtered a bit in an attempt to not dribble it all out. After a few swallows, he looked up at the Anubis figure.

“Die,” the figure said. “Dramatically please.”

“’Ziraphale?” he croaked.

“Yes of course it’s me, how could you doubt it?” the creature hissed. “This won’t work unless you appear to be dead, so get on with it?”

Crowley let out a dramatic groan and drooped forwards against his restraints, concentrating on stopping his breathing entirely. It wasn’t really all that hard; he felt fairly close to death. The angel had cut it a bit close, all things considered.

Aziraphale/Anubis turned to the prostrated priests and raised both hands in the air, using what Crowley could tell was a quick miracle to make a clap of thunder split the sky. “The apostate is dead! He has paid for his sins. Let the Pharaoh know his offering is accepted by the gods.”

The priests bowed and scraped and murmured.

“Now begone!” he commanded them, voice like a whip and crackling with divine power. The terrified guards crawled backwards for a few body lengths, and then beat it back for the temple at a dead run. No one really wanted to mess with Anubis, if they knew what was best for them.

Aziraphale snapped and Crowley’s bonds disappeared suddenly, leaving him to flop face forward in the sand like a ragdoll. He stayed there, unmoving.

“Oh my,” Aziraphale said quietly. “You really are in quite a state, aren’t you?”

He gathered the demon up in his arms, still maintaining his disguise in case anyone was watching from the nearby temple, and used a quick miracle to transport them both to his tent several river-units away. Anyone watching would simply see the God Anubis gathering the body of his enemy and disappearing into the underworld, as expected.

\--

The next time Crowley opened his eyes, he was cushioned on soft pillows in a shady tent with a cool breeze blowing over his face and a wet cloth on his forehead. He blinked and tested out his tongue, finding it no longer dry as leather, then took a cautious look around.

The angel was seated next to him, clad in a light linen robe, waving a small fan in his direction.

“Hello,” he said with a smile.

“Aziraphale!” the demon said, then coughed, finding his voice still rough. “What’s going on?”

“You were sentenced to death by the Pharaoh. Care to tell me what for?”

Crowley frowned. “He didn’t like my prophesies. You left it long enough, didn’t you? Nearly discorporated.”

“It was strategy,” the angel said mildly. “I couldn’t just break you free – they would have kept looking for you. I had to let you get very close to death and then pretend to take you to the underworld. Now that they think the sentence has been carried out, you should be safe. Of course, you will have to leave the area permanently as soon as you’re recovered.”

Crowley looked down. “I – I truly didn’t think you were going to come,” he said. “I mean, the last time I saw you, you threw a date at me.”

Aziraphale huffed. “You truly think I’m going to let you be discorporated over a little argument? Besides, if you leave, who knows who Hell would send back up. I’d rather be saddled with you than someone like Hastur again,” he said with a shudder. Hastur had showed up for a while in Mesopotamia while Crowley was stuck trying to get a new body for six months, and it had been one of the worst times in Aziraphale’s life to date. An absolute nightmare.

“Better the demon you know than the demon you don’t know?” Crowley said.

“Something like that,” the angel said. “That’s rather a nice phrase actually. I might have to write that down.”

“I’m sorry I doubted you,” Crowley said. “Now pass me some wine, would you?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, but did hand over the flask. They would spend a few days recovering in the oasis, then figure out where Crowley was going to get himself assigned to next. With any luck, the angel could work his way towards the same general area.

Just to, you know, keep an eye on things. It was what one did, if you were the guardian of humankind.


	8. Prompt: Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little battle of wills over the use of miracles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because... I can never, ever go the way you'd obviously expect with these things, right? You should probably know that by now. 
> 
> A little quarantine stress-inspired ficlet. Cuz everyone screams at their spouse once in a while, right? Asking for a friend... :)

“Crowley!” Aziraphale thundered. “You nearly hit that postal worker!”

Crowley flapped a hand in the breeze. “He knew the risks he was taking.”

Aziraphale was used to Crowley’s driving. He was used to Crowley’s insouciance in the face of near misses. He was used to all of it. They’d been friends for six _thousand_ years and living together for nearly five. So he truly couldn’t explain why it all suddenly aggravated him so much today. But before he knew what he was doing, he was crackling with angelic power and doing the unthinkable – using a miracle on the Bentley to block the gas pedal and bring them down to a nice, sedate speed.

Crowley hit the gas pedal and nothing happened. He blinked. He blinked again. He pulled over to the side of the road and came to a full stop, and turned to Aziraphale crackling with power of his own.

“Angel,” he warned, “if you’re using a miracle on my car, you better rethink that right bloody now.”

The angel lowered his quarantine mask so that Crowley could get the full brunt of his displeasure. In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say.

“That man has _four children_ , Crowley, and you nearly killed him!” the angel said stubbornly. “I can’t allow you to be a menace to essential workers, not when they’re risking their lives to keep society afloat.”

Crowley rolled his eyes and pulled down his own mask to his chin so that he could snarl more effectively. “Let go of my gas pedal, angel. This is not the way to discuss this issue.”

“I won’t,” the angel said frostily. “Not until you agree to be more careful.”

Crowley took a minute to try to wrest control of the gas pedal from him through a miracle of his own. An immutable demonic force met an unmoveable angelic object in the front seat of the Bentley, and they both found themselves grunting with effort as the invisible battle played out between them.

“Stop that or you’re going to cause some kind of explosion, Crowley,” the angel said. “You can’t out-miracle me. I can keep this up all day.”

“Oh really?” Crowley sneered. “Well so can I.”

A few sparks shot out of the air vents, and they reluctantly both released their portion of the struggle.

“If you hurt my car, I will miracle you to outer Mongolia and you can walk home,” Crowley said.

“If you kill or harm any pedestrians, I will miracle you to the moon,” Aziraphale snapped back.

“I will miracle your mouth shut for a week!”

“I will miracle yours shut for a month!”

Aziraphale smirked and released his hold on the gas pedal. Crowley felt it and quickly tried to get moving again, only for the angel to shift his hold to the ignition switch.

“It is going to take a bloody miracle for you to not end up sleeping on the couch tonight, angel,” Crowley snapped.

“It would take a bloody miracle for me to sleep in the same bed as you tonight, demon,” Aziraphale answered.

They glared at each other for a small eternity, and then when it became apparent neither of them was going to back down, Aziraphale reached a decision.

“Fine,” he said, “but don’t expect me to ride along and countenance your insanity.” He raised a hand meaningfully and snapped, miracling himself home.

Crowley blinked after him, hands gripping the steering wheel almost hard enough to deform it.

“Well that was a thing,” he muttered. And then he pulled back out into traffic. And if he went a little slower than usual, it wasn’t because the angel was bloody right or anything.

\--

Crowley didn’t come home for hours, leaving Aziraphale with endless time to fret. He’d overreacted, he was perfectly aware. And he’d messed with the Bentley, which was quite possibly the sole foundational rule about being in a relationship with Crowley. Do what you like, but don’t touch the Bentley without permission. Not ever. He knew that, and would have said until now that he would never have dreamt of doing so, whatever the provocation. And yet – and yet – he had simply lost his mind with irritation today. Over something he’d seen Crowley do a hundred, possibly a thousand times. What on earth had been going on to make him do that?

It was undoubtedly quarantine, he thought. Watching the humans going through this modern plague and being unable to do anything about it had rubbed his nerves raw. They’d hardly left the bookshop in months, and when they did decide to go out for a limited shopping trip today, the sight of almost no one on the streets and so many familiar shops shuttered, closed, even for lease just broke his heart. The workers at the local greengrocers had looked so worn down with care, and the people they encountered were all afraid. It made him feel impotent, unable to do anything to help anyone.

And so he took out his rage on the demon. On his spouse. Who had been patiently quarantining at home with him for months, never breaking the rules, and was just enjoying his first chance to take a drive.

He was an awful angel, he thought. Not like that was news to anyone.

\--

Crowley sped his way north and out of London to where he could really open the engine up on the motorway, and entertained himself by achieving nearly supersonic speeds on the A1 for a good hour. He ended up much further north than he’d intended, his anger assuaged down to a dull irritation by the open road and open air. He ended up parking the Bentley in a nice pullout near a scenic overlook, looking her over carefully, then stalking off to find rocks to throw at birds.

What had the angel been thinking? *throw* He knew the rules. Never fuck with the Bentley. *throw* He’d never given the least hint that he would even consider doing so before. And honestly, he’d seen Crowley nearly flatten a pedestrian a bazillion times before. *throw* Why was today any different?

He wanted to understand, and he also wanted to tie the angel to a chair and yell at him for a few hours. He couldn’t decide which impulse was going to win just yet.

His phone pinged while he was throwing more rocks off a cliff, having already scared any birds away.

 _I’m not going to look at it,_ he thought sourly while pulling the phone out and immediately looking at it. _I don’t care what he has to say for himself._ He did care. Immensely.

He read the texts from Aziraphale, and then grumpily put the phone back into his pocket. And then he pulled it out and read them again. And then he decided to leave the messages on read, just to send a message. And then he decided he better answer.

He was, he was aware, entirely hopeless.

 _Home in an hour,_ he typed.

\--

Crowley stopped, hand on the cash register just at the front of the office area, and took in the scene with little expression on his face. He was willing to be here, his posture said, but he wasn’t going to make the first move.

He noted that Aziraphale was seated quietly on the couch. There was a large and exceptionally good glass of wine waiting pointedly for him on the small table in front of it. The angel looked up at him worriedly.

“Please sit?” he said.

Crowley hesitated a moment, then sat down, one leg crossed over the other. He sniffed at the wine but didn’t reach for it yet. Sobriety was probably not a bad idea.

“My dear –”

“Angel –”

They both began at once. Then they both immediately made a “no after you” gesture. Crowley groaned and shut his mouth firmly. Aziraphale blinked and carefully made a move to begin.

“I – that was ridiculously out of bounds, my dear,” he said. “I’m aware.”

“It was,” Crowley agreed. “You have never once been bold enough to mess with the Bentley before. That’s a fight you should know better than to start.”

Aziraphale blushed. “Can I plead temporary insanity?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Quarantine has been tough on everyone. I suppose people do crazy things when they’re stressed.”

If anything, Aziraphale almost felt worse for Crowley giving him a way out. It was true, but that didn’t matter.

“I’m so sorry,” he said miserably. “I’ll move my things down here for the night. Or for however long you want.”

Crowley frowned. “I didn’t mean that.”

“Well nonetheless –”

“No,” Crowley said sharply. “We’re not doing that. Yes, I’m a little mad at you. But we’re not going to start sleeping apart whenever we have an argument.”

Aziraphale absorbed that with a feeling of profound relief.

“But you’re not riding in my car again anytime soon,” Crowley said, with a hint of steel. “Not until I know you can be trusted to keep your hands – physical or ethereal -- to yourself.”

“Fair enough,” Aziraphale said mildly. It wasn’t like they really went anywhere anyways; today’s shopping trip was the first in over a month. And he was fairly certain the quarantine would outlast Crowley’s resolve to not let him in the car. He’d probably get a reiterated lecture the next time he found himself in the passenger seat, but he intended to be on nothing but perfect car behavior from here on out, so that was no problem.

Crowley relaxed fractionally and reached out for the wine. “What did you open?” he asked, swirling it in the bowl of the glass and observing the light glinting off of it.

“One of the old Chateau Lafites,” Aziraphale said. “Peace offering.”

“The 1959?” Crowley said, impressed. “That’s a nice gesture. I know you’ve been hoarding the last case for the last fifty years.”

“The very one,” Aziraphale said. “Where did you go today?”

“Out to the downs,” Crowley said. “Drove fast in the countryside for a while. Scared some birds. It was nice.”

“Wish I’d been there,” the angel said wistfully.

“Well behave yourself the next time,” the demon said with a hint of a smile. “If you hadn’t miracled yourself home when you did, I might have done it for you.”

Aziraphale twitched in a way that made it very clear that he wanted to hug the demon and was not sure if it would be welcome. He raised his hands off of his lap and then lowered them again. Crowley watched him with one side of his mouth curled up. The angel, despite how bloody annoying he could be, was so freaking adorable. He could hardly stay mad at him.

“C’mere,” he said gruffly, holding out an arm, and the angel slid happily into it. “You’re annoying, but you’re mine.”

“I am,” said Aziraphale. “And you really do speed rather frightfully.”

“Watch it, angel,” the demon warned.

Aziraphale smiled into the demon’s side, and conjured up a second glass of wine for himself. Time to enjoy the Rothschild.


	9. Prompt: Old Fashioned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azirphale seizes his moment as Crowley takes a long, long nap.
> 
> ______________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little revisionist history about the aftermath of Crowley's long nap in the 19th century. I hope you'll indulge me.

Aziraphale didn’t get many chances to feel like the modern one in his relationship with the demon known as Crowley. No matter how he tried to stay on top of things, it always felt like the demon had gotten there first. If there was a new invention, a new technology, a new food – somehow, the demon found out about it and made a big to-do of introducing it to the angel. He didn’t seem to do it to prove anything; in fact, he seemed to enjoy the process of finding new things for the angel to experience and try. It was… almost sweet.

But just once, just one time, Aziraphale wanted to be the one who was a few steps ahead. Which is why, after he discovered that Crowley had dealt with their argument by going to sleep for a long, long time, he decided to take advantage of this -- his big chance to get out in front of things, so to speak.

He spent the rest of the 19th century, after it became apparent that Crowley wasn’t planning to wake up anytime soon, scanning the papers, attending lectures at the explorers’ clubs and science societies, and dropping in on technical expositions wherever he could. And whenever he learned about something new and interesting that could fit into his bookshop or lifestyle, he became – what was the phrase? An enthusiast. An investor. What would someday be called an early adopter.

He had one intention in mind through all of this. When that miserable demon got up from his fifty year sulk, he was going to walk into the bookshop and feel like a visitor from the stone ages. And he, Aziraphale, guardian of the eastern gate, was going to enjoy that moment very much.

\--

He knew, of course, the instant when Crowley woke up. He’d been keeping an eye on him for quite some time now. What he didn’t know was how long it would take the demon to get in touch with him. He could, after all, still be angry about the holy water incident. Or he could be embarrassed about the whole thing, not sure how to make contact.

Aziraphale had thoughtfully taken care of this, however, by having a lovely upright phone installed in Crowley’s home. He’d been certain to get the one with the loudest possible ring, for maximum effect.

Which, after giving the demon an entire three days to make contact with him in some other way, he decided to use.

After going through the necessary steps to place the call, Aziraphale held the receiver of his own phone to his ear and listened to the thunderous ringing taking place on the other end.

A loud rattling noise a few moments later indicated that the receiver had been taken off the hook.

“Hello? Crowley? Hello?” he called.

He heard, instead of a voice returning the greeting, a vague and distant sound of hissing and the clatter of what sounded like a rather expensive telephone hitting the floor.

“Aziraphale?” a voice shouted from far away. “Aziraphale where are you? I hear your voice!”

“In here!” Aziraphale called out. “Pick up the – the small black handle-shaped thing on the floor!”

“Aziraphale!” the demon shouted, sounding frantic. “Have you been discorporated? Oh god, I slept too long! Don’t worry, I’m coming to find you!”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. This was not going as planned. But as long as Crowley showed up at the bookshop in relatively short order, he supposed it was all tickety boo.

\--

The demon came slamming through the front door of the shop not twenty minutes later, looking incredibly spooked.

“Ah, awake are we?” Aziraphale said wryly from his seat at the desk.

“Angel!” Crowley said frantically. “I thought you were discorporated! Your voice… was in my apartment… but very faint… and – and what on earth is going on in here?” He blinked and looked around. “Why is it so bright?”

Aziraphale lowered his reading glasses and peered at Crowley over the top of the frames. “I assure you I’m quite well. I wasn’t a ghost, I called you on the telephone. See??”

The angel pointed to a large, black contraption on his desk that looked to Crowley like a combination of a very ugly vase, a few bits of yarn, and some kind of misshapen drinking glass.

It looked, he realized, exactly like the thing that had made the awful noise in his apartment earlier in the day. The thing that he had then smashed to bits on the kitchen floor when it wouldn’t stop shrieking. Right before he heard the angel’s disembodied voice, he realized.

“A – a telephone?” he asked. He shook his head trying to clear it. He always felt a little slow on the uptake after a long nap.

“Yes indeed,” Aziraphale said. “It’s the latest thing! I can pick up this bit here,” he said, demonstrating, “and click this bit a few times, then speak to someone who is in an entirely different place! Nearly everyone is using them!”

“You – you had one of these things installed in my home? While I slept?”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, straightening his waistcoat superciliously. “I know how you like to be kept up to date. And you’ve missed rather a lot.”

Crowley frowned and took a good look around. There were strange fixtures hanging from the ceiling and emerging from sconces on the wall that burned much too brightly and steadily to be gas-lit. It was all a little too intense, to be honest – it made his eyes hurt to look at some of them. Crowley’s eyes had been formed in the times when it was sunlight during the day and firelight at night – they were not meant for this – this incandescent disaster. He winced and dug around in a pocket for his sunglasses.

“Oh, my dear, does the new electric light hurt your eyes? It does take some getting used to; I do hope it doesn’t give you a headache,” Aziraphale said kindly. “But if it does, they’ve invented the most wonderful thing called aspirin! Shall I get you one? It will fix you up as quick as anything!”

Crowley blinked and looked at the angel, who blinked back at him innocently. The demon was not fooled. The angel, blast him, was enjoying something about this whole scenario, and enjoying it immensely.

“What,” he said slowly, “is going on.”

Aziraphale shuffled the papers together that he’d been working on and ostentatiously pulled out another new invention – one he was rather personally fond of, the brilliant little paper clip! – and made sure Crowley was watching as he fastened the pages together into a neat pile. Then he pulled out the newly minted fountain pen to mark something with on the topmost page – he’d made sure to buy at least ten of Waterman’s first 200 pens, as soon as they hit the market in 1885, and always kept one at hand.

Crowley continued to stare at him.

“Nothing is ‘going on’, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “You simply made a decision to sleep Through a number of very important years! The world moved on while you were sulking -– I mean sleeping, of course -- and it’s going to take you a while to catch up.”

Crowley gaped at him, starting to get the picture.

The angel capped his pen and smiled warmly at Crowley. “Don’t worry, though,” he said. “I’ll help you.”

“Ah,” Crowley said. “So that’s how this is going to be, is it?”

Aziraphale gave him a look of absolute innocence. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You’re aggravated with me about sleeping for so long so you’re going to rub my face in each and every thing I missed?”

The angel had the gall to look wounded. “Why no,” he said, seemingly sincere, “not at all! I can’t wait to share with you a few of the things they’ve come up with! Why you haven’t seen the gramophone yet – or, or moving pictures! And oh, you’ll love the zipper! So much fun, all that up and down movement! And, of course, there’s all kinds of horrible new weaponry that your side probably had a hand in; I won’t be showing you those. And then there’s the combustion engine. Why some people even say that horses will soon be obsolete, and we’ll all be zipping around town in one of these mechanical carriages!”

Crowley sat down heavily. Perhaps sleeping hadn’t been a great idea.

“Is there still wine?” he said blearily. “Or has that been improved, too?”

Aziraphale hopped up. “Of course there’s wine! How silly of me, I should have offered you refreshment right away. You sit there quietly and let me get that for you.” He bustled off towards the kitchen, then stopped and called back cheerily. “Oh, and I’ll just get you that aspirin too, shall I? You don’t look at all well.”

Aziraphale allowed himself one triumphant grin as he walked towards the back room. Time to select the best vintage from the last fifty years and begin making peace with his old adversary.


	10. Prompt: Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley has a vulnerable moment during a game of Truth or Dare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This references a snippet in chapter 17 of my flufftober story! Read it [here](%E2%80%9C)

“What do you remember most about your first sexual encounter?” Newt asked, putting his shot glass down on the table.

Drinking games, Crowley thought, were never a good idea with friends. With humans you were trying to tempt, sure, why not? But with people you cared about, they had a tendency to go awry. Like now. They were playing some kind of weird version of truth or dare that just consisted of truths – answering questions, some titillating, some less so. It involved spinning a spoon on the tabletop, and whoever it pointed at got to post a question to the group. Your choices then were to either answer it honestly, or take a shot. No other options.

Crowley had already taken thirteen shots, and wasn’t about to start participating in forced sharing now. Getting drunk he had no such qualms about. 

Anathema and Aziraphale were much more game, and Newt of course was mostly an open book, answering every question and only taking the occasional shot so that no one could accuse him of abstaining entirely.

Questions moved around the table to the right, so Anathema was first to answer. She spun off some charming little story about a round of petting and kissing beneath the bleachers at some kind of sporting event during her time in California, and everyone smiled. Next was Aziraphale. Crowley eyed him curiously.

“Well,” the angel said, blushing a little. “I can’t say that I fully remember mine, or at least not clearly.”

Anathema grinned and leaned forward. “This sounds interesting.”

“It was… it was in Egypt,” he said, thinking carefully on how to not reveal his age too fully. “Quite some time ago. I was quite a bit younger, just – just a babe, practically. And there was date wine, and good company, and I’d had quite a bit of it, you see –”

Crowley frowned, searching his memory banks for this event. It _was_ him the angel was talking about, right? He was fairly certain he’d been the angel’s first kiss. He was certain it had been in Rome, though.

“And I kissed him.”

“Kissed who?” Newt prodded.

“Oh – no one you know, a guard, I believe he was.” Aziraphale said, coloring deeply. “Ok, who’s next?”

“That’s all we get?” Anathema complained.

“That’s all I care to share!” Aziraphale turned to Crowley, blinking and smiling brightly and utterly falsely. “Your turn my dear!”

Crowley stared at the angel, unblinking, his eyes looking a little more snakelike than usual. “I’ll take the shot,” he said, picking up his glass.

“Oh cmon, Crowley,” Anathema muttered. “That’s fourteen in a row! Be a man, answer the question.”

Crowley turned to stare at her. “Be a man?” he said. He grinned in a way that looked feral, incisors glinting, and put his shot glass back down on the table. “Okay, Aziraphale. Aziraphale was my first kiss. Quite a while ago. Very nice. Would recommend. Two thumbs up.”

He picked the shot back up, drained it in one go, and stood up from the table. “This is fun,” he snapped as he stalked out of the room and towards the kitchen and back door of Jasmine cottage. “Thanks for this.”

Awkward silence filled the room.

“Excuse me, my friends,” Aziraphale said softly. “I’ll just – well, I –”

He shrugged and hurried after the demon.

Newt looked at Anathema, eyebrows raised. “What was _that_?”

“Beats me,” she said.

\--

Crowley was out in the back garden, hovering intimidatingly near a raspberry bush that was getting a bit too big for its britches. Aziraphale could tell that he felt him walk up behind him, but he chose not to turn around.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Aziraphale said.

Crowley shrugged. “Fine. Right as rain. Just peachy.”

Aziraphale sighed. “You know I’ve had other partners before you, we’ve talked about all of this at length.”

“I know,” Crowley said softly, still glowering at the bush. “I just – I thought – you told me about the time we kissed at the party in Rome in 73 AD, when I got blackout drunk and forgot about it, and for some reason I thought that was the first time for both of us.”

Aziraphale thought back to that evening. It had been delightful. Too much wine and the need to fit in at a rather licentious party had led to an evening of snogging on a couch with the demon. Which the demon then promptly forgot, after passing out later in the evening. He’d only found out about it a few years ago when it came up in conversation. 

“It was the first time that _mattered_ ,” the angel said quietly, placing a hand on the small of Crowley’s back.

Crowley softened a little to the touch but still held onto his wounded pride. “How many people did you kiss before that with whom it _didn’t_ matter, angel? What were you, practicing?”

Aziraphale tutted softly, and turned the demon to face him. He looked soft and wriggly and adorable in his discomfort. “My dear, I couldn’t possibly tell you. Very few, and very infrequently, and none of them with anything approaching intensity or romantic interest.” He placed both hands on the demons hips and stepped in a little closer to him. “It all pales in my memory, you know.”

“What does?”

“Anyone who wasn’t you,” he said, placing a small kiss on the demon’s furrowed brow. “I don’t think about it, and I barely remember it. Even then, it was only ever you who mattered.”

Crowley sighed. “I’ve had too much to drink. M’not the jealous type.”

Aziraphale grinned. “Perhaps you have a tiny streak of it,” he said.

Crowley shook his head intensely, not meeting his eyes. “No, really, it’s the fourteen shots of tequila speaking, angel. That’s all.”

“As you wish, love,” Aziraphale said. He stepped back and held out his hand. “Shall we go back in? Perhaps its time to make our excuses and head back to London. I find myself a little tired of drinking games.”

“Oh please,” Crowley said. “I thought you’d never ask.”


	11. Prompt: Unlucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale encourages human's belief in luck. Crowley hides his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is entirely fluff and with no nutritious content whatsoever. :)

Humans were a superstitious lot, always creating reasons why bad and good things happened to them, rituals they could use to try to wrest control from could seem like a profoundly uncaring universe. Although he knew that the official stance was to be staunchly opposed to superstitious nonsense, in his heart of hearts, Aziraphale couldn’t blame them. If eternal entities such as he and Crowley – beings who had actually _met_ the Almighty at one point in their existence – found it hard to understand God and her plans, how could humans be expected to do so perfectly and completely?

So they created rituals. They threw salt over their shoulder for luck, they kept their shoes pointing out beneath the bed, they took care not to compliment a baby, they never cut the bread from the top instead of the side. Whatever they could do to drive away bad luck and ensure good things happened.

He even went so far as to try to help.

He and Crowley were lounging in the park one warm spring day, he reading on a blanket and Crowley napping, when Aziraphale noticed some children digging through the grass excitedly.

“I found another one!” one of the girls squealed.

“Four leaf clovers are dumb,” a sullen looking girl in dark braids retorted. “They don’t do anything.”

“They do!” the first girl said. “My sister found one and made a wish on it and the next day she got a phone call saying she’d won a prize in the essay contest.”

“That’s stupid,” her companion retorted. “I believe in _science._ ”

Aziraphale made a little gesture.

Crowley wriggled one eye open and fixed it on the angel. “What was that?”

The angel looked at him innocently. “What was what?”

Crowley pushed up on his elbows and gave him a knowing look. “That little tingle of power I just felt. Can’t fool me, being in the presence of angelic blessings itches.”

“It _itches_?” Aziraphale said. This was new and intriguing information.

“Does,” Crowley said, grinning. “Now c’mon, what’d you do?”

“Just – bestowed some luck on that little girl over there.”

“The one who’s friend is being a prat?”

“Ah,” Aziraphale said, “so you heard that.”

Crowley had. He’d been quite interested in the girl in dark braids, actually; had been listening to them for some time and just gently probing the edges of her presence.

“She’s not a prat,” Crowley said. He rolled over onto his belly now that it was out in the open and surreptitiously took a good look at her. “She’s a budding scientist. Bright mind, that one. Bit of a Wednesday Adam aesthetic to her, don’t you think?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. Crowley _adored_ that movie. He did as well, but it did start to wear after a bit when Crowley kept calling him Morticia and kissing his way up his arm for weeks after they watched it.

“I suppose so,” he said doubtfully. “But there’s no point in stomping on childish fun, is there?”

They both watched the two children for a while. The scientist did indeed look a bit like the girl from movie Crowley so dearly loved. She had dark braids and was dressed rather solemnly in black shorts and a gray tee. Her companion, now clutching what appeared to be three four leaf clovers, was light and fluffy and wearing all colors – like a little rainbow running around the grassy field in her yellow shift, striped tights, and pink belt. Her hair was light yellow and silken and held back by a polka dotted headband.

They watched as the bearer of all the luck happily distributed the extras to her two friends – another girl who was happily digging through the grass with her, and finally one to her dark haired skeptic, who frowned but took it anyways, taking care to carefully press it inside her book, probably for later study.

“Oh, she’s a good girl,” Aziraphale said approvingly. “She shared her luck with everyone. Now I need to bless the other two also, just as a reward for her thoughtfulness.”

It was Crowley’s turn to roll his eyes. “You should watch out with just handing out the blessings willy nilly,” he said. “Could be – I don’t know, unlucky.”

Aziraphale turned to him with a small frown. “I don’t really believe in luck, you know that.” Crowley looked back at him. “Do you?”

“Noooooo,” Crowley drawled. “Not a bit.” He deliberately did not think about the rabbits foot he had in the glove compartment of his car. He kept his mind off the small ivory amulet he’d had in a box next to his bed since AD 346. He most definitely did not let his mind be drawn to the small bundle of rowan branches tied with red thread a witch had given him in the early middle ages that was supposed to “ensure the safety of his family.”

Even at that point, Crowley could only think of one person who felt like family to him. And so, despite knowing much better than most how the world actually works, he tucked these and other amulets and tokens away in boxes and chests, kept them safe, and did not try to tempt fate any more than his mere existence already did.

It didn’t pay to tempt bad luck. Not when you were so, so rich in the only thing that mattered.

He smiled at Aziraphale and held out a hand.

Aziraphale took it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm behind again. I'm going to try to catch up a little this weekend! Work and life continue to be challenging. I hope you're all healthy and well!


	12. Prompt: Far Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The future brings unexpected changes, and Aziraphale and Crowley must decide what exactly they are the guardians of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this one is a bit of a radical departure from my usual subject matter, but it came to me all in a rush and I'm just going to go with it.

> _“If your outcasts are in the uttermost parts of heaven, from there the_ _Lord_ _your God will gather you, and from there he will take you.”_
> 
> _Deuteronomy 30:4_

The angel and the demon stood side by side and watched as the staff complement of five hundred humans boarded a cargo carrier bound for elsewhere. Up. Above. Out. They were flinging off the confines of this planet, imagining their way free of the boundaries of Earth. It was an unimaginably long journey they were embarking on, and one with no return. Most of them would sleep for thousands of years and be awoken only in shifts, to keep the ship running, the oxygen and food supply functioning, and to prepare everyone else for landing and being awoken.

It had been a long time coming, this journey. And yet, it felt inevitable.

“Do you think she intended for this to happen?” Crowley asked quietly.

“I hardly think it matters, my dear,” Aziraphale said. “They’re going, whether she wants them to or not.”

Crowley watched for a moment as the bustle continued, loading people and crates and endless packages onto the exploration vehicle, what they called a generation ship.

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth,” Crowley said thoughtfully.

A hint of a smile played around the angel’s lips. “For thus says the Lord, who created the heavens, who formed the earth and made it. She established it; she did not create it empty, she formed it to be inhabited,” Aziraphale answered.

They both took a moment to absorb that. There was nothing in the words of the Almighty to indicate that humans shouldn’t be going off to explore and inhabit. She had said so herself.

It was a momentous occasion; they could both feel it in their bones. Crowley remembered the moon launch, in July of 1969, when it felt like humans had achieved the incredible and there was no way of stopping them from crashing up into the heavens and all but finding the almighty themselves, wherever she had chosen to hide away, and demand reparations for their harms.

In the six hundred years that followed though, that promise had been sidetracked again and again – by endless wars, by famine, by the plagues of 2020 and 2235, by the third great war which desolated the planet, by the stark and somber rebuilding that followed, by the move away from science and finally back towards it in the late 24th century. There had been dark times and careful remnants of learning and hope to nurture and spark through it all and they had overseen it together, whatever came, guarding the survivors of humanity and carefully guiding them back into the second great renaissance of learning and exploration. All of which led to this moment – not the achievement of spaceflight, that had happened hundreds of years ago, but the advancement of technical knowledge to the point where humans felt like they could actually survive in space, on the long journey to the nearest M1 class planets.

“Should we, do you think, go with them?” Aziraphale asked, feeling a little forlorn. “It’s – it’s an ark, you realize. Like Noah. We went with Noah, to keep them safe. Shouldn’t we go with them?”

“Possibly,” Crowley said. “It raises an important question though. We’ve been their guardians for a long time now, since we left our respective sides. But here’s the crux of it: are we the guardians of Earth, or the guardians of humanity?”

It sounded like philosophical naval gazing, on the one hand, Aziraphale thought, but on the other, he had a feeling that a more important question had never been asked.

“I think,” Aziraphale said, “that we are the guardians of the humans first, and the Earth second.”

“Then if they find a new Earth, we should be where they are.”

“Will they make it where they’re hoping to go without us?” Aziraphale wondered.

“Possibly,” Crowley said. “They’re all going to sleep for a long time. Without our help, the chances are probably low. But not impossible.”

“We could improve the odds so, so much,” the angel observed wistfully. “We could just bless them, you know. That would help.”

“It would,” Crowley said. “But still. Unexpected things could happen out there. It’d be so much more fun to be there for it.”

“They’re so brave,” Aziraphale noted, getting a little teary. “Would you ever have thought, back in the days of Cain and Abel and the sons of Eve, that we’d be here, on this day, watching them leave the cradle?”

Crowley reached out and slung an arm around the angel’s shoulder, pulling him into his side. He could tell by now when his husband needed comforting. He was hiding how much he felt the same. He would examine it later, once he had his mate on a steady footing again.

“I want to go!” Aziraphale burst out. “It’s dangerous out there! There could be all kinds of wild animals and… and dangerous radiation that they’ve never encountered before… and… and poisonous plants they don’t recognize! They’re children, Crowley, children! They need us!”

“Sounds like we should miracle our way onto the register, then,” the demon said, smiling gently. “I’m game if you are. We could be – science officers? Personnel specialists? I’ll figure something out.”

The angel wrung his hands. “But wouldn’t we be abandoning our posts here?”

“Not really,” Crowley said. “We could keep an eye on both of them.”

“Not by splitting up,” Aziraphale said, warily. “I mean, if this is a plan where one of us is on Earth and one of us is on the generation ship, I’m not interested.”

Crowley frowned. “No of course not. We just – we oversee them. Call it a commuter job.” He thought for a minute. “I think She wouldn’t mind us watching over them. She might even be counting on it.”

“We really know nothing about running a generation ship, though, my dear,” Aziraphale demurred.

“No, we don’t,” Crowley said. “But we’ll have a few thousand years to learn it. And don’t forget, we’d have the fun of exploring the effects of zero gravity.” He leered. He waggled and eyebrow.

The angel gave him the laugh he was angling for, and some of the tension fell away.

“All right, then,” Aziraphale said. “Let’s gather a few things and find a way on board. I’ve had a go bag packed for a few centuries now, just in case. I assume you’ve done the same?”

Crowley nodded. “Won’t take me long.”

“Countdown commences in four hours,” Aziraphale noted, checking the chronometer display. “Plenty of time for us to get to New London and back here.”

Crowley turned and smiled at him. “A new adventure, then?”

“I believe that would be lovely,” the angel said. He was already planning which books to bring. A few hundred should do for a start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said, not my usual fare. And again -- If this is not your cup of tea, I apologize! You probably didn't come here to read about space. :)
> 
> My beta is begging me to turn this into a whole AU, but I'm not 100% sure I'm up to writing an entire space opera AU. But it was fun to change contexts entirely for a bit! :)


	13. Prompt: Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale reveals his least favorite holiday, and Crowley finds a way to help him un-celebrate it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short, fluffy one. Enjoy!

Aziraphale woke up early, checked the time and date on his phone, and flopped back down to pull a pillow over his head. “Oh for Heaven’s sake,” he moaned loudly.

Crowley opened one bleary eye. “What’s that, angel?”

“It’s September 29th. And you know what that means,” came an aggravated but muffled voice from under the down cushioning.

“That… it’s nearly October?” Crowley said, removing the pillow blocking his access to his partner.

“No, dear, try to keep up,” the angel said a bit tetchily. “It’s Michaelmas.”

Crowley wracked his brain for the significance. “And?”

“And you know,” Aziraphale said. “It’s a big deal, Above. It’s kind of like – what do the humans call it? Bosses Appreciation Day?”

Crowley snorted. “You’re kidding.”

“No,” the angel sighed. “I wish I was. Technically it’s the Feast of Michael and All Angels, but somehow over the years it turned into a day to celebrate the archangels in particular. There are presentations and speeches and everyone below that level is expected to provide some sort of token of thanks to whichever of the Archangels in whose jurisdiction you work.”

Crowley couldn’t help the bark of laughter that burst out of him. “So, it’s essentially ‘suck up to your wanker of a boss’ day up in Heaven?”

Aziraphale grimaced. “Well I suppose that’s one way of putting it. You have no idea the ways I’ve had to grovel to them all in years past. Every year, even if I was terribly busy down here on Earth, I’d get some sort of officious, team-spirit reminder from one of their underlings reminding me to be sure to attend the Michaelmas celebration and to have a comment or two prepared if the occasion arose. I had to bring them gifts! Gifts, Crowley!”

He broke off with a shudder.

Crowley did not like seeing looks like this on his angel’s face. Aziraphale’s face was meant for smiles, or at least a contented repose. He wasn’t meant to frown (although he was quite good at it), or to look unhappy, or to appear vaguely sickened by the memories of having to kowtow to beings who treated him poorly. He looked, the demon thought, like his stomach had gone sour at the very memory of it.

“Good thing,” Crowley drawled, leaning over to press a kiss against his temple, “that you no longer work for them, then, innit?”

A genuine grin appeared on Aziraphale’s face. “That’s a very good point. It’s my first year free of it, actually! We should – we should celebrate!”

Now that was more like it, Crowley thought. “What would you like to do to celebrate your first year of non-celebration? Should we send up a bouquet of, oh I dunno, rotting fish?”

Aziraphale gave it a moment’s thought and then broke out in one of Crowley’s most favorite expressions – one of pure delight.

“Well,” he said, “since we’re celebrating my separation from the angelic hierarchy, perhaps we could, oh, I don’t know, aim slightly hellish today?”

“Well – that sounds fun,” Crowley said, “but what do you mean, exactly?”

“Oh, you know –” the angel said airily. “Go cause some minor mischief? Perhaps I could help you tempt someone in some harmless way? Or, we could glue some more coins down in Hyde Park. There’s always a motherlode of tourists to pick them near Speaker’s Corner.”

Crowley felt an overwhelming rush of love and adoration for his partner. “So basically you want to raise a little havoc with me today, to stick it to Heaven?”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “That’s exactly what I had in mind! Absolutely delightful!” He hopped up and began puttering around performing his morning routine. “Let me just get dressed and we’ll get started. Perhaps I can find something slightly darker than beige to wear today. Would I look more demonic in a nice charcoal gray?”

Crowley stretched back out in the bed, hands behind his head, and began planning the most fun they could possibly have on a day when the angel wanted to be just the tiniest bit bad.

He had a feeling this was going to be a day to remember.


	14. Prompt: Wayward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley face their yearly performance reviews in the year 1491, and move a few steps closer to their eventual Arrangement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit of a history nut about the Medicis and medieval Florence. This story is set in the time just a few months before the Medici family fell from power after fostering a brilliant intellectual revolution in 15th century Florence, and about two years before the monk Savonarola had the big, famous bonfire in which the citizens of Florence burned their books, their paintings, and even famous painters like Botticelli threw their own masterpieces onto the pyre. I got to thinking about what sides the angel and the demon would have WANTED to be on in this conflict, and what side their respective bosses would insist that they actually work for. Conflicts of interest galore, and Crowley continues a subtle campaign to convince Aziraphale to work more closely with him. And everyone involved is a bit wayward. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_Heaven, December, 1491_

“Just try a little harder, Aziraphale,” Michael said to Aziraphale, straightening the papers of his annual performance review and giving him what she supposed was her most understanding and encouraging smile. In actuality, it was the kind of smile that school chancellors always gave their most unruly students before whacking them on their posterior with a large piece of wood. Aziraphale had to repress a visceral shudder in response.

“You don’t have to always be so contentious, do you?” she continued. “All we want you to do is support the Dominican monk against the Medici family – you know this renaissance of theirs is going directly against church policy, and therefore against Heavenly policy. We don’t want the humans to be encouraged to turn to science instead of clinging to the word of the Almighty.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, trying to choose his words carefully. “It’s just that Savonarola intends to burn all of the books! And the paintings! And there really can’t be anything gained by doing so. All that creativity and knowledge, burned! Some of it is quite religious in nature and very important. Why would a monk do that? Is that really what She wants?”

Michael clasped her hands officiously on the desk in front of her. “It’s not up to you to question what She wants. What we want is what She wants, after all.” She sniffed as if she smelled something bad. “I know you love your books and your artists. Perhaps you’re getting a little too close to all of this Earthly material. Should we bring you back home so you can think over your waywardness in peace for a few centuries?”

“No,” Aziraphale said mildly, message strongly received. “No, that won’t be necessary. I believe I understand more fully what your position is. I’ll bring about the bonfire, no need to concern yourself.”

Michael examined him in silence for an excruciatingly long time. “Very well,” she finally said with a tight smile. “I’m glad we had this chance to talk. See Gabriel on your way out for your annual upgrades, please! And see you next year, Aziraphale.”

He left for Earth as quickly as he could manage.

\--

_Hell, December, 1491_

Crowley stood before Lord Beelzebub trying to bite his tongue as he was dressed down for his lack of results. It was quite difficult, really, to keep his thoughts to himself. But then again, demons weren’t really supposed to be good at self restraint, were they? He was being a _good_ demon by being rebellious. The thought made him tip one side of his mouth up in the tiniest of grins. He quickly smothered it, but there was no getting anything by Beelzebub.

“You find something amuzzzing, snake?” Beelzebub snarled.

“No, no,” Crowley assured them. “Just thinking that telling a demon he’s rebellious is kind of like yelling at the sky for being blue.”

Beelzebub frowned and stalked closer to him, their flies buzzing ominously around his face. Crowley knew better than to swat them off.

“You know what you are, demon?” they buzzed. “Unruly. Defiant. Wayward.”

Crowley knew he was in for a takedown no matter what he did or said, so he mentally shrugged and at least decided to keep his reputation intact as a complete and utter smart ass.

“Beez,” he purred. “Come on. You know you love all of those things about me. Who ever heard of a demon worth his salt who wasn’t just a little bit wayward? I mean, I’ve practically made an art form out of encouraging humans to be disorderly. Instead of a punishment, I think you should issue me a commendation.”

Beez blinked and did, for just a fraction of a moment, look a tiny bit amused. “We will see about that,” she said, then waved a hand for the two burly demons behind him to take him back to his cell.

Crowley sighed. It was going to be a while before he got back up to Earth this time. All because the assassination attempt on Lorenzo Medici he was supposed to pull off failed. He didn’t tell them that it failed because he _ensured_ that it failed; he _liked_ Lorenzo, always had. Had been close to his father before him. Interesting man. Forward thinker. Let the upper echelons of Hell think it was general incompetence on his part, that was fine, as long as the new wave of thought and exploration that was being fostered in Firenze continued unchecked.

He had left the angel to keep things on track until he returned.

\--

_Florence, January, 1492_

Crowley found Aziraphale waiting for him nervously near the merchant’s bridge over the Arno river. The angel was there, loitering near their appointed meeting place, hiding his interest by browsing through the tables and stalls of various vendors. Crowley sidled up beside him and fingered a piece of linen.

“Fine quality,” he said to the young woman behind the table, announcing his presence. Beside him, the angel picked up and fingered a gold chain, no reaction visible at all. “How much?”

She named her price and he handed it over, then draped the bundle of fabric over his arm and walked away, casting his senses out to ensure that the angel followed shortly behind him. He sauntered off towards the residential district until they found a small park where they could speak unobserved.

“You’ve been gone a while,” the angel observed as they sat back to back on opposing benches. “I’ve been checking daily for weeks now.”

“Hell wasn’t very happy with me,” the demon said over his shoulder. “Blamed me for the failed attempt on Lorenzo last month.”

“Well they’re quite right about that, aren’t they?” the angel said primly.

“You know as well as I do that there’s no way that I’m letting that man be assassinated!” Crowley protested, and then settled down. “I was friends with his father.”

Aziraphale made a calming gesture Crowley couldn’t see. “Oh, I quite agree, I do.” Aziraphale sighed. “You should hear my side. They want me to help Savonarola. He’s so unbearable.”

Crowley made a sympathetic noise. “He’s going to burn all the books, angel. How is your side possibly in favor of that?”

“I can’t imagine,” Aziraphale said. “All that knowledge. Gone. And I’m supposed to ensure that it happens. It’s – ineffable.”

Crowley frowned. That was just wrong. No one that knew him could ask the angel – this angel – to ensure that a massive book conflagration took place. It went against everything he stood for, everything he loved. He felt, once again, a deep, flaming anger against the idiots in Heaven. They were like giant, petulant children, squishing ants for fun.

“Michael called me _wayward_ ,” Aziraphale said, incensed. “Can you imagine?”

Crowley laughed bitterly. “Beelzebub used the same word about me. I suppose we’re both a bit unruly these days.”

It was hard not to be. Rarely had the world felt so exciting as it did now, in the midst of what would come to be called the Renaissance. After so many centuries of struggle, after the horrors of the 14th century, suddenly there was an explosion of learning and sophistication and hope. It was hard not to be swept away in it, if you’d been waiting for so long for a spark of inspiration to take root in western civilization again.

“It feels,” Aziraphale said hesitantly, as if he were putting words to the greatest heresy of his life, “like we’re on the wrong sides of this. Doesn’t it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that it would make more sense if my side was behind the Medici family and championing enlightenment and learning, and your side was, well, more focused on burning things and stomping people down and closing off their minds.” The angel petered off, overwhelmed by the sensation that he was both betraying Heaven in stating such a thing and probably angering the demon as well.

To his surprise, the demon was merely thoughtful.

“I can see what you mean,” he said quietly. “It’s certainly an odd situation. Perhaps we can, I don’t know, help each other?”

Aziraphale frowned. “We’ve discussed this before, and the answer is still no. I’m not doing your job for you, and you’re not doing mine.”

Crowley bit his tongue. “Not what I meant, angel,” he said. “I meant, maybe I can help you save some of those books.”

Aziraphale blinked hard. “You’d do that?”

“I might,” the demon said. He thought quickly about how much of his true motivation to reveal, and decided to toe the company line, for now. “If it serves my interests.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. This was yet another step closer to the inevitable partnership that Crowley kept needling him about, bringing the idea up every few decades, how they could work together, simplify both their lives. He knew he had to resist, but oh, the idea of saving some of these priceless works from utter destruction was just so tempting.

 _Wayward_ , he thought grimly. They already think I’m disobedient and unruly and working against the party line.

“What did you have in mind?” he said quietly.

Another line crossed, the angel thought. But at least there was one person who understood what was at stake.


	15. Prompt: Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earth's astronomer's throw a wrench into Crowley's long term plans, much to his displeasure. The angel finds a way to cheer him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took me a while to come up with an idea for -- what could you possibly write about Crowley and stars that you haven't already read somewhere else or written yourself? And wow, did stars and comments and everything come hugely into play in a few of my other stories - pretty critical in I Will Follow You. And then I was poking around, reading web pages about Alpha Centauri, and hit upon this lovely little thing called the Pale Red Dot campaign, and an idea came to me. :)
> 
> Enjoy!

It was a peaceful Sunday morning at the breakfast table, with Aziraphale reading the book reviews in the paper and Crowley frowning away at his phone. Peaceful, that is, until the silence was broken by Crowley swearing violently and dropping his phone like it bit him.

“What on earth?” Aziraphale asked, startled into spilling a few drops of his English Breakfast tea on his vintage dressing gown. He tutted disapprovingly. No one should raise a fuss on a Sunday morning. It just wasn’t civilized.

“They found it!” Crowley growled. “I can’t believe they found it.”

“Found what?”

Crowley sighed dramatically and dropped his head down onto the table with a thunk, and then just stayed there. “Nothing. Nevermind.”

The angel set down his teacup firmly and reached over to lay a hand on Crowley’s arm. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Crowley mumbled something unintelligible into the tabletop.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and prepared to sound stern. “Anthony J. Crowley, you’re beginning to worry me. Please sit up and talk to me or I’ll be forced to … _take steps_.”

Crowley wasn't sure what that meant but he was smart enough to recognize that he wasn't likely to enjoy it. He sat up reluctantly.

“All right, all right,” he said. “I’m up.”

The angel examined him closely. “What’s got you so upset?”

Crowley picked up his phone, stabbed at it a few times, and handed it to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale hated reading things on tiny phone screens, but nonetheless he pulled out his miniscule reading glasses, settled them onto his nose, and took a close look.

“Project Pale Red Dot?” he read, looking up at Crowley for confirmation. “This is the problem?”

Crowley nodded, so he kept reading.

“Well, this is rather an inspiring story, actually,” Aziraphale said. “A team of scientists has found the first potentially habitable planet, and it’s not impossibly far away! Proxima B, what a nice name. And it’s – oh.” He paused. “It’s in the Alpha Centauri system.”

“Yes it is.” Crowley said. “The bastards.”

Aziraphale stared at him as if he’d grown two heads. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to elaborate, my dear.”

“’s mine, angel!” Crowley exclaimed. “Remember how I used to try to get you to go to Alpha Centauri with me every once in a while?”

Aziraphale sniffed. “I remember you being rather persistent about the whole idea when Armageddon was looming, yes.”

“Not just then, though,” Crowley said. “I brought it up right after the first world war, and again after the second. One in the 14th century too. Maybe another time or two also – I forgot.”

Aziraphale began to get a hint of an idea. “Are you saying that you have actually _been_ there?”

He had honestly always thought the demon was kidding.

Crowley frowned, displeased. “What, did you think I was making things up? Of course I’ve been there. Wouldn’t have asked you to go, otherwise.”

“And – and –” Aziraphale’s brain scrambled to keep up. “Are you saying you have some sort of prior claim to this planet they’ve discovered?”

Crowley slammed both hands down on the table for emphasis. “Proxima B is MINE, angel. Mine. I’ve been setting it up for centuries. And now these nosy little scientists have ‘discovered’ it, and put it on the list as target number one if humans ever have to relocate. To _my_ planet.”

Aziraphale knew he was supposed to share in the outrage, but his brain was still loitering several steps behind. “Setting it up?” he said. “What does that mean?”

Crowley froze for a moment. How much to reveal? He’d had a hand in the creation of the triple star system Alpha Centauri, and had always had a soft spot for the smallest of its suns and its accompanying little planet. He’d visited it from time to time when he just needed a break from Earth. Proxima B was a pretty place, with big rocks and liquid water, and it was warm enough for sunning himself in snake form, and if over time he’d seeded it with some plants and maybe set up a structure or two, what was wrong with that? 

It was merely a hobby at first, but over time he came to see it differently – as their lives got more and more dangerous, he started to see Proxima B as a potential backup plan for the both of them, a place they could go if it all went pear shaped. And so he’d done his best to begin making the place habitable for the two of them. He’d built a vault of sorts there and filled it with things they might need -- some of his favorite artworks there when they no longer fit in with his apartment, and put in a cache of books and wine.

It was foolish, and he’d never really expected to even tell Aziraphale about it unless an absolute catastrophe occurred, but if Crowley was one thing, he was a demon who liked to be prepared.

He came back to his senses and realized Aziraphale was waiting patiently for an answer.

“Oh, well,” he said, tongue tied, “I started thinking that we might need – someday, you know, if things went off – a backup plan, somewhere to go. And it’s a nice little planet. You’d like it there.”

Aziraphale got the same look on his face that he had had when the former Sister Mary Loquacious had waxed rhapsodic about the antichrist’s cute little toesy-wosies. Inordinately fond.

“Am I to understand,” he said gently, “that you set up an entire planet for our habitation?”

“Well, not the whole planet,” Crowley said gruffly, his cheeks heating up under the angel’s regard. “But a part of it, yeah. Took some things there in case we ever need them. Built a storage thingy. To, uh, store stuff. Just in case.”

He studied the table in front of him and did not look up.

“My dear,” Aziraphale said, “what a lovely thought. I am amazed and astonished that you did such a thing. Quite romantic, in its own way.”

“Ruined now, though,” Crowley said sullenly. “Stupid astronomers and their stupid telescopes, messing up our stupid escape plans.”

Aziraphale laughed gently. “Dearest,” he said, “it’s not like they can _go_ there. They’ve simply worked out that it exists from measuring wobbles in the star’s orbit. It’s still –” he checked the phone again – “25.2 _trillion_ miles away. I think your world is safe for now.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley grumbled. “But they’ll be there someday. It was supposed to be for us.”

Aziraphale came around the table and pulled Crowley up into standing and wrapped his arms around him. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I think we still have a few centuries of having it all to ourselves.”

“We?” Crowley asked hopefully.

“We,” the angel confirmed. “How about you show me around this world of yours? Quick miracle there and back? It’s only four light years after all, if we combine our efforts we can manage that without any undue trouble. Be back in time for tea.”

Crowley brightened up at that. “You want to see it?”

“I absolutely do!” Aziraphale answered. “Now, tell me – what should I bring? What’s the weather like there? Will I need an overcoat? A muffler? And how many thermoses of tea do you think I should bring? Oh, there is so much to decide…”

Crowley’s brain relaxed at the familiar sound of Aziraphale puttering around preparing them for an outing, just as he had for a thousand adventures in the past. He realized he’d been holding his breath for rather a long time and let it out in a swoop, feeling the tension seep out of his spine and a feeling of contentment settle in its place.

He’d see about wiping Proxima B off of their star maps later, when they returned. But first it was time for an expedition. Sabotage could wait. 


	16. Prompt: Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale realizes something about what makes up a home for him.

The Garden was home, first. Not for long, of course – he barely had a week in it, then another little while closing it up. But the right place has a way of seeping into your soul no matter how long you are in it. He had seen it over the years, Aziraphale thought – that certain feeling you get walking into a set of rooms or a library or a small shop where some ineffable combination of elements just curled up inside you immediately and took residence. Was it the light, the warmth, the combination of colors, a particular pleasant smell or inviting hearth? Whatever it was, the heart happily murmurs the word ‘home’ in its presence, and it is never mistaken.  


It was years after the Garden before he felt it again. He had many places he sheltered, and some of them he cared for very much, but the true homes were fewer – one in Ninevah, a simple hut but one which suited him very dearly. One in Thebes with its warm breezes and love of learning. A fresco-painted monastic cell in Rome, before he was forbidden re-entry to the Vatican ever again. (And believe him, that still rankled.) A gamekeeper’s cottage in the North of what was now England. A hut in the Bavarian woods. A very small handful of others throughout the ages. He could still recall each of them in fond detail, despite the long or short length of time he had stayed in each.  


But honestly, he’d never been in one as long as he had been in the bookshop. Over two hundred years in one place? It was a luxury he’d never dreamed of. Empires rose and fell in that kind of timespan. Wars were fought and won, kings and queens came and went, neighbors lived, neighbors died, and somehow Aziraphale was still there. Inside the same four walls, under the same glass rotunda, living his life. He’d never grown so attached to a place.  


Which meant, of course, that it made him vulnerable; he had something to lose, something very valuable, and if his enemies were clever (which fortunately, they rarely were), they had a place to hit him where it would hurt very badly.  


It didn’t happen until the almost apocalypse, and then he wasn’t even around to see it. It was up to Crowley to break the news to him, twice. It hardly penetrated the first time.  
“It burned down,” the demon said to him.  


“All of it?” he said, brought up short -- but then there was the discovery that the book had survived, and the need to find a body and stop the end of the world, and that was the end of that. He didn’t think about it again for what felt like days but was truly only hours, until they were sitting on the bench at the bus stop, waiting for a ride back to London.  


“It burned down, remember?” Crowley said again, peering at him gently.  


This time there was nothing to cushion the blow. He’d relinquished his sword yet again, he’d lost and regained his body, the devil was gone to who knows where, and reality was returning to normal – but his shop, his home, his haven of two hundred and nineteen years, was no more. He kept his face as blank as he could while he reeled inside from the pain.  


“How – how did it burn?” he asked later, as they sat on the white leather couch in Crowley’s living room. It wasn’t a pleasant couch; it didn’t invite lounging and reading the way the Chesterfield in his office had. But with Crowley there and a few glasses of wine and a throw or two, it somehow became much more hospitable.  


“I don’t know,” Crowley admitted. “Didn’t smell like hellfire, although I couldn’t tell that at first. Thought it had been Hastur or someone, for a while.” He paused to take a deep breath and stuff that feeling down deep. “It wasn’t.”  


“Accident, then?” the angel suggested. “I was speaking to the Metatron when I got discorporated. So, there were candles about.”  


“The Metatron discorporated you?” Crowley shouted. “That son of a bitch! I’ll fucking murder him!”  


“No, no,” Aziraphale said, laying a hand on Crowley’s arm. “It wasn’t him. It was a human. Caught me in the act with the Metatron, so to speak, and assumed I was conjuring demons. I was trying to prevent him from stepping into the circle himself and being harmed when I accidentally crossed the boundary and was sent back to Above.”  


“Who?” Crowley growled.  


“Never you mind,” Aziraphale said gently. “It was my fault and not theirs, and I won’t have you administering demonic justice on anyone on my behalf.”  


Crowley scowled into his wine for a few minutes. “So probably the force of you ascending bodily into heaven knocked over a candle or two and that was that.”  


“Most likely,” Aziraphale nodded.  


They drank quietly for a few minutes after that, both lost in thought. Aziraphale knew Crowley was thinking about the retribution that was likely coming to them, and he ought to focus on that too – they desperately needed a plan. But his mind was distracted, pinging off random thoughts about the bookstore being gone and particularly about something he did not understand – why was he not feeling as bad as he ought to?  


He should be devastated. It was gone, all of it. The culmination of centuries of book collecting, the best nest he’d ever formed, all of it evaporated in the blink of an eye. And it did hurt, like a punch to the chest, but he wasn’t as levelled by it as he would have expected. Instead, he felt – well he felt surprisingly safe. Warm. Cared for. He was with Crowley.  


A thought came to him with a sudden shock, and he gasped in spite of himself.  


“What?” Crowley said, startling upright. “Do you have an idea for what we should do?”  


“Yes, yes, possibly, or the start of one,” the angel said, “but this is something else. Something just occurred to me.”  


Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Do tell?”  


“You visited me in Ninevah, didn’t you? At the small hut I kept there?”  


Crowley frowned. “Multiple times. Our time there overlapped by about two years. Introduced you to date wine and all kinds of depravity.”  


“And Thebes?”  


Crowley thought for a moment. “That tent you kept outside of the temples? I think I spent about a month there with you, off and on, recovering from that near-discorporation when the camel spit on me and I fell off right next to the cliff and ended up – oh you know, right?”  


Aziraphale remembered that. Crowley had never truly forgiven camels after that. Not that he blamed them. Horrible creatures, camels. If he weren’t commanded to love all of Her creatures, he would have made an exception for that one.  


“But were you in any of my homes between the two?” he asked, deep in thought.  


Crowley narrowed his eyes. “What’s going on?”  


Aziraphale waved a hand. “Just humor me. I know you have a prodigious memory.”  


Crowley thought back. “I don’t think so. We saw each other a handful of times, but it was always in transit – while we were travelling, or at an oasis, or during a battle. I can’t remember seeing any of your homes in between those two periods.”  


“And in Rome, remember that one time when I smuggled you inside the monastery to see the frescoes? Fra Mitti was doing such astonishing work, and there was the one fresco that included a painting of the serpent of Eden, and you insisted on seeing it?”  


“Didn’t even burn my feet,” Crowley said, laughing. “Living quarters weren’t consecrated enough. Liked that serpent though.”  


“Oh my good Heavens,” Aziraphale said. “It’s you. It’s not the places themselves, it’s the places that you’ve been in.”  


Crowley blinked, utterly lost. “What is it you’re trying to say, angel?”  


Aziraphale blushed, aware he had revealed more than he had intended to. “Oh, it’s just that I’ve been thinking about the places that I’ve lived and what differentiates them. You’ve lived in a number of tents and huts and houses and manses over the years – you certainly know how some of them are just places to sleep to you and some of them have a different feel to them, like something makes them feel like a true home? Almost something alchemical, the way they morph into something with meaning?”  


Crowley nodded. Most of his hadn’t, to be honest. He’d tried not to put down too many roots. Hell frowned upon it, and there was always some rogue demon showing up to visit with him and destroy his belongings for fun anyways, and the few places he had cared for and protected early on had ended up sacked or destroyed in wars and fires, and after a while he had given up on trying to embue his surroundings with a sense of safety. What was the point? The only safety for him was and had always been the angel, anyway. It didn’t matter where he slept.  


After the events of the day, finding themselves on their own side, Aziraphale just couldn’t be bothered to hide his true feelings anymore. In for a penny, as they say, in for a pound.  


“I just realized that all of the places that have truly become a home to me are places that you have visited,” he blurted out. “It’s not the places themselves, it’s you.”  


Crowley looked deeply embarrassed, and also slightly flattered. It was, in a word, adorable, the angel thought.  


“Nahhhh,” the demon drawled. “Not me. I mean, maybe I played a part in it. Added some wine and the occasional tchotchke I picked up on my travels. Kicked up the décor a notch or two. But maybe you just only shared the places with me that already felt that way – didja ever think of that?”  


Aziraphale smiled fondly. “So, you think I just didn’t invite you into the more horrible places I lived?”  


Crowley nodded. “Yeah. Like you only brought me over to the good ones. Because you’re – you know, what did they use to call it? House proud.” He grinned. “Fussy.”  


Aziraphale rolled his eyes mildly. “If I were truly fussy, I’d have gotten a demon friend with better manners, my dear.”  


Equilibrium restored by that slight insult, they both relaxed back onto the seat cushions and sipped their wine. Aziraphale smiled into his cup, though; he knew he was correct in this realization, and he knew why he didn’t feel completely devastated at the moment. Sad, yes, hurting, yes, worried about the future and what they would make of it. But the bookshop, while a blow, wasn’t an immeasurable loss. The things he had loved and gathered were gone, but he was still at home in the world, as long as Crowley was here. As long as they were safe and together.  


That jarred a thought in his head, and he reached into the inner breast pocket of his jacket to pull out the singed piece of paper that they had been puzzling over earlier in the evening. It was all related, he thought – home and safety and ensuring that each other was present, and feeling as at home in each other as they did in their own skins.  


A light clicked on in his brain and he was suddenly, utterly sure that they were going to survive this, whatever retribution Above and Below had planned for them.  


“Crowley,” he said, “I’ve had the most brilliant, wicked idea…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the woods, in a cabin, with wifi and wine and music, taking lots of naps and writing prompts! Two today, maybe more tomorrow! Enjoy!


	17. Prompt: Cursed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale indulges a long-held wish of Crowley's and goes on a pirate adventure in 1680.

Aziraphale, dressed in high black boots and tight breeches and a billowing white shirt that was much too clean for his current role as a brigand of the high seas, knelt down to open the first of the chests they’d dug up from the sea cave on the eastern Canadian coast. Inside was a heap of silver and gold coins, badly tarnished, velvet bags of jewelry that would need to be sorted through to see if the items they were looking for were amongst them, and, interestingly, a small black box, on the very top of the pile. 

The box was about six inches square, lacquered to a high shine, with a large, heavy looking clasp and no further decoration. It was oddly enticing. Aziraphale forgot what he was doing and made a noise of fascination as he reached for it, picking it up to examine it in the firelight.

“Don’t touch that!” Crowley shouted from beside him.

Something in his tone frightened the angel into immediately dropping it to the ground.

Aziraphale brushed his breeches off in frustration and stood. He flipped up the stupid eye patch from his left eye so he could focus more clearly. 

“What is your problem?” he said acerbically. 

Crowley paused to wipe the sweat off his face and lean on the shovel handle with his arms. Crowley had been doing most of the digging and the puffy white shirt and red bandana he wore were wet and filthy with sweat and exertion. 

“Bad feeling,” the demon said. “I don’t think you should be touching that.” 

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow but complied. “Pirate curse?” he asked. 

“Something cursed it. Might not’ve been pirates who put it there,” Crowley replied. “Perhaps that’s why they never came back for their treasure, you know? Picked up some cursed loot somewhere, sank to the bottom of the sea.” 

Aziraphale uncapped a wine cask that was slung at his side and took a long swig. “Why are we digging up these chests, anyway?” he asked for the fourth time. “We could just – you know – miracle them up.” 

“Oh, come on, angel,” Crowley said with a grin. “Where’s the fun in that? We went to all the trouble of disguising ourselves as pirates and getting a ship and hiring a crew all to bring us out here to this god forsaken northern island to follow this ridiculous map and try to retrieve the Queen’s jewels, and you want to just cheat on the last step and miracle the booty up out of the ground?” 

“Oh sure, now you become a stickler about verisimilitude,” the angel groused, but halfheartedly. He knew Crowley had always wanted to be a pirate. When they’d both gotten orders to retrieve a certain set of stolen jewels for different aims, it seemed like the ideal time to indulge the demon’s long-held fantasy. He hadn’t even made Crowley work that hard to convince him. The 17th century had been rather boring so far, his responsibilities were at a natural lull, and it seemed like a good time for a quick maritime adventure. That said, that didn't mean he was about to _shovel_.

“So, what’s in the little black box?” Aziraphale said, nudging it with a foot towards the demon.

Crowley poked at it with the shovel. “Not sure,” he said. “Feels demonic. Not entirely sure we should open it.” 

“But you’re a demon,” Aziraphale said, frowning. “Surely it’s safe for you.” 

“Possibly,” Crowley said, “but you’re here. And I don’t want to let anything in there harm you.” 

Aziraphale smiled. “Very thoughtful of you,” he said. “But we’re pirates. We can handle it.” 

Crowley frowned and then pointed Aziraphale towards the mouth of the cave. “Stand over there. I’ll raise a shield.” 

Aziraphale moved to where he was pointed and watched as Crowley unfurled his wings from the ether and raised a shimmering strip power that acted as somewhat of a barrier between them. He placed his own body between the angel and the cube, and then prodded at its clasp with his shovel until it sprung open. 

A howl filled the cave, along with an amorphous, whirling cloud of vapor that appeared to be screaming. Crowley stepped back, shovel held out defensively and his attention split between the cloud in front of him and the angel behind him. The cloud whirled and began to condense into the size of a figure, and after a moment it settled down into the recognizable shape of a man. 

A man who appeared to be dressed in drab, tan-colored robes, grimy and in poor repair, with gloved fingers riddled with holes and his white shock of hair standing up in spikes. Aziraphale blinked in surprise – he’d seen this person before, he was sure of it. It wasn’t until the face came into focus with its smear of boils and the grubby toad on his head that he knew for sure who it was. It was the demon who he’d run across once or twice in the last few centuries – what was his name? He knew it, it was right on the tip of his tongue –

“HASTUR!” Crowley shouted. “What in the name of – what were you doing locked up in a box?” 

Hastur rolled his unkempt head around on his shoulders, producing a series of surprising loud crackles and pops as various muscles and bones clicked back into place. He took a deep breath and looked around him, obviously working to bring his eyes back into focus. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he said. “Crowley? You’re my rescuer?” 

Crowley laughed. “You got yourself captured? How does a Duke of Hell end up locked in a little black box and how did I not hear that you were missing?” 

Hastur scowled. “What year is it?” 

“1680 something,” Crowley said. “When were you taken?”

“About a decade ago,” Hastur said. “Idiot magician in the court of Spain accidentally did something right. Put me in that box, laid a curse on it so it couldn’t be opened by mortals. If you hadn’t come along…” He looked around and noted Aziraphale by the cave entrance. “Oh great. An angelic witness. What are you doing consorting with the enemy here? I’ll be sure to report about your bad habits of fraternizing with the enemy when we get back home.”

“Seems to me,” Crowley drawled, “that if we hadn’t come along, you’d still have been stuck in that box for a long time to come. Possibly centuries. The tides here are brutal – no human could have been in here long enough to dig you up without drowning. You owe us.” 

Hastur hissed and clenched his fingers into and out of fists, clearly wanting to smite something. A few maggots dripped from one of his hands and burrowed into the sand. “Don’t think you’ll get any favors from me, you colossal moron.” 

Crowley grinned. “Well that’s all right then,” he said, picking up the black container. “Let’s just take this box –” he stopped and sniffed it dramatically. “—which, by the way, is full of your psychic residue, absolutely confirms that you were locked inside for a decade. So, let’s just take this and pop back to Hell and update Beelzebub and the council about where you’ve been and how you were stupid enough to get locked in a box by a magician, shall we?” 

Hastur paled. 

“I’m sure they won’t be too angry,” Crowley continued, syrupy sweet. “Probably only send you to the pits for a few years at most. Been a while since you’ve been flayed, hasn’t it?” 

“Fine!” Hastur shouted. “What do you want?” 

“I want you to forget that you saw either of us here, and I want no reports made about the angel’s presence. We are both here simply pursuing the orders of our direct superiors, who each have an interest in the contents of these chests. There’s no fraternizing going on.” 

“No indeed,” Aziraphale said primly from the entrance. “I don’t care for him at all. He’s quite an arse.” 

Hastur smirked. “You’re right on that front.” 

Crowley made a feint at Aziraphale with the shovel, just for effect, and snarled convincingly. “Please. Like I’d hang out with him. He’s a total drip.” 

Aziraphale looked up towards the heavens in his best long-suffering manner. 

“So?” Crowley said, flourishing the box. “Are we heading to the dark council right now, or do we have a deal?” 

Hastur sighed. “Yes, fine, I won’t say a word about the suspicious circumstances I found you in. In return, you give me the box.”

“Ohhhhh no,” Crowley said, “I don’t think so.” He made a hand motion and the box disappeared, tucked neatly into a small pocket dimension where he kept one of his stashes of valuable things. “I’m keeping it for insurance. Because I don’t trust you, Hastur. Not for one second.”

“That’s the first sensible thing you’ve said all day, Crawly,” Hastur sneered. “Should never trust another demon. Stay away from me from here on out, all right?” 

He stood up more fully and brushed off his clothing, assembled his tattered robes into something approaching order, and offered them both an insincere and disturbing wave, and melted into the ground. 

The last thing they saw was his toad, eyeing them suspiciously, and then that too was gone. 

Crowley whacked the ground where Hastur had disappeared with the belly of the shovel. “Good riddance,” he muttered. He dropped the wings and his power and turned to Aziraphale. “Safe now, you can come back in.” 

“That was… surprising,” the angel said mildly. “Thanks for stopping me from setting him free myself. One of us would have ended up smiting the other, for sure.” 

“Wouldn’t have really minded if it was you smiting him,” Crowley said with a grin. “As long as it didn’t start some long, drawn out war.” 

“Well,” the angel said, “shall we get back to it? The crew is probably near onto mutiny by now; if we take much longer we will be flying home.” 

Crowley picked up the shovel again and spaded it down into the sand. “On it, angel,” he said, flinging a shovel-full of sand into the corner. “Just a few more feet and we’ve got the second chest. We’ll take them back to the ship and sort it all out there.”

“On the way home, perhaps we can stop at that former Viking colony on the big island up north? I hear there are mermaids about!” Aziraphale said. “Oh, and perhaps we can magic up some proper tea and some little cakes for the trip?” 

“You’re a horrible pirate, Aziraphale,” the demon said. “Just the worst.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The pirate cosplay you never know you needed, I hope. :)


	18. Prompt: Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale opens his big mouth and gets himself an unwanted new assignment during a heavenly interview.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No Crowley in this one! And it's very very short. Just a conversation that came to me and appeared on the screen.
> 
> There will be a part two of this for tomorrow's prompt, Glorious. Stay tuned!

### Part one: Project Heavenly Slumber

  
  


Heaven, 800 AD  
  


“Very good,” said Gabriel, shuffling Aziraphale’s latest report scrolls and handing them off to an intern who scurried off to file them appropriately. “Nice job overseeing the coronation of Charlemagne. Good to know the western empire is firmly in the hands of a good Christian king. Is there anything else you need from us to keep the new court on the right track?”

Aziraphale thought for a moment. There had been something he’d meant to bring up. “Yes, well, I had a dream the other night about how helpful it could be if we were to –”

Gabriel raised a hand, interrupting him. “You had a what?”

Aziraphale caught his breath for a moment, not understanding. “A… a dream? You know. While I was asleep.”

Gabriel and Michael exchanged a look. “You _sleep_?”

Aziraphale raised a brow. “Well, not often, but occasionally these corporeal forms need rest. It’s when they heal, and grow, and consolidate their memories.”

“So, all humans sleep, then, regularly?” Michael asked.

Aziraphale took a minute to ponder the absolute lack of knowledge all the archangels had about Earth and humans. There was nothing to blame it on except their overwhelming lack of interest in all things terrestrial. Sheer hubris.

“You’ve both been on Earth any number of times,” Aziraphale said cautiously. “You never observed anyone sleeping before?”

Michael shrugged. Come to think of it, Aziraphale thought, Michael was usually there for warfare. Not many people asleep on the battlefield. That one was almost excusable. Gabriel, however, was another story. He’d walked among the humans many times. He’d delivered the big news to the Virgin Mary and seen the baby Jesus sleeping in his swaddling clothes, for heaven’s sake!

“Well,” Gabriel said, with a frown. “I’ve noticed it from time to time, but I figured it was some kind of reaction to my presence. You know, like I had overpowered them into a state of unconsciousness.”

Aziraphale strained every single muscle in his entire body and just managed – JUST – not to roll his eyes. It was a close call. Only Gabriel would think that the Christ child couldn’t bear to look upon his glory and chose to faint instead. He filed this one away to share with Crowley next time they ran across each other. He was pretty sure the demon would discorporate from laughter.

“Nooo,” he said calmly, drawing out the word. “Humans sleep nightly. Approximately every twelve to sixteen hours. For up to eight hours a night. And while they sleep, they have things called dreams.”

Gabriel leaned forward. “Fascinating. And what exactly are dreams?”

“It’s like – a story, with pictures, that plays out in your head while you’re sleeping. They can do all kinds of fantastical things that they can’t do in real life, like fight monsters and go on adventures, and – and fly!”

Michael frowned. “And you do this as well?”

“Well nowhere near as often as they do,” Aziraphale said honestly. “But once every fortnight or so, the body makes it known to me that I am in need of some rest, and I’ll take a short sleep. Just to keep myself in tip-top working condition.”

Michael narrowed her eyes and turned to Gabriel. “I wonder,” she said, “how we could make use of this new information. Perhaps they’re suggestible in this state in a way we could turn to our purposes?”

“Fascinating idea, Michael,” Gabriel said approvingly. “We’ll need to research this one. Well done, Aziraphale. Do you think perhaps you could teach a few of our angels how to sleep, so we could look into this a little further?”

“Well, I suppose I could try to –”

“Excellent!” Gabriel boomed, not even letting him finish. “We’ll gather up some interns and then let you know when we’re ready for you. Project Heavenly Slumbers will be underway within a fortnight.”

“Oh, good grief,” Aziraphale muttered under his breath.

“What was that?” Michael said warily.

“Oh, good!” Aziraphale repeated, feigning enthusiasm. “Happy to help! I’ll just – I’ll just be popping back down to Earth then, to see what needs to be done, shall I?”

He stood up and edged towards the door, but Gabriel and Michael were deep in conversation and didn’t even notice him. He cleared the office and signed out, using a small miracle to send himself back down to Earth where he flopped down in his tent and sighed.

What had he gotten himself into this time?

He had a feeling Project Heavenly Slumbers was going to be no fun at all.

\--

Aziraphale rather hoped the archangels would forget about Project Heavenly Slumber, but sure enough, about two weeks later he came back into his tent after a council meeting and discovered a glowing, golden scroll awaiting him on his cot. He sighed with distaste, then set his shoulders and unrolled it. No point in delaying the inevitable.

 _Principality Aziraphale,_ it read, _you are summoned to Heaven as soon as you are able to begin the glorious work of Project Heavenly Slumbers. You are commanded to report to headquarters for one week of Earth time beginning tomorrow. Please check in with Gabriel when you arrive._

Aziraphale sighed again. To be honest, he’d barely mastered the art of sleeping himself; he wasn’t at all sure how he was supposed to teach it to a bunch of noncorporeal angels who had never heard of the concept. He wished Crowley were around to ask about it. He had to hand it to him – the demon was a master at sleeping. He cast around hopefully to see if the demon was in the area, but no luck.

Well, nothing for it – he decided he better let the emperor know that he had been called away for travel. And then he thought he might just seek out the demon for some advice.


	19. Prompt: Glorious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale does his best to undertake Gabriel's glorious new work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of yesterday's prompt -- and there will be one more brief part three for the next prompt, Scars.

**Part two: Project Heavenly Slumber**

Crowley was in Baghdad in the court of Mamun the Great, giving his best effort toward whatever it was demons did – foster discord, disrupt the rule of law, interfere with justice, Aziraphale wasn’t sure. He miracled himself into the outskirts of town, where he’d sensed Crowley’s presence. He found him haggling with a merchant over a pile of dates. The demon had always had a sweet tooth, although he’d deny it vociferously if cornered about it.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said, touching him on the sleeve. “How lovely to run into you!”

“You didn’t run into me,” Crowley said, not missing a beat as he handed over his pile of coins and took the bag from the vendor. “I felt you appear just a second ago. You’re here on purpose. Come to oversee the translations, I suppose?”

Aziraphale blinked. “Translations?”

“Oh!” Crowley grinned. “All kinds of fantastic things are going on here – they’re building this thing called The House of Wisdom. Big building full of scrolls! Translating all the texts from Greece, Persia, Sumeria. Been wondering when you’d show up – right up your alley!”

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale fretted. “And here I am stuck in the courts of Charlemagne overseeing stupid wars and conquests! I’d much rather be here! If only we could switch assignments!”

The demon smiled rapaciously. “We could undoubtedly work something out, angel.”

“Oh now,” the angel replied, retreating into his prim default. “That won’t be possible and you know it. But I did come here to seek you out.”

“Oh? Missed my sparkling personality?”

“Hardly,” the angel said. “But I need your advice. I’ve gotten myself in rather a pickle. Is there somewhere we could go to talk?”

\--

Crowley laughed so loudly and for so long that Aziraphale began to feel quite annoyed. He helped himself to another generous serving of Crowley’s precious date wine, drank it all in one gulp, and then sat back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest.

Still the demon laughed.

“Oh – oh my –” Crowley moaned, wiping his eyes and beginning to calm down. “So sorry angel, but that one is a knee-slapper! Gabriel and his glorious presence overpowering the infant Yeshua into unconsciousness!”

Aziraphale giggled a little too at that one. It never got old.

“And – and now –” Crowley tried to regain breath control, but he was still half-laughing. “And now you’ve got to go teach a bunch of idiot angels how to sleep? Oh, for Satan’s sake. I wish I had your job sometimes. No one in Hell ever says anything funny.”

“Yes, well, that’s the problem you see,” Aziraphale said insistently. “I can barely sleep myself! Hardly ever do it. I was hoping you might have some pointers for me?”

Crowley noticed the low level of the wine jug and waved a hand to refill it to the top, then poured himself a mug of it. He took a sip while thinking carefully.

“I suppose I could teach you a few things,” he said. “Things I learned in China. Breathing techniques. Ways to calm the body and achieve other states. A little bit of hypnotic suggestion, perhaps?”

Aziraphale wrung his hands. “Oh dear, I would be so grateful. Anything you have, anything at all.”

Crowley nodded. “When do you have to report in?”

“Tomorrow!”

“Well then,” the demon said, “we’d better get started.”

\--

Aziraphale left Baghdad armed with a sealed jug of date wine, several interesting new relaxation techniques designed to help ease anyone into a peaceful sleep, a scroll or two with some interesting guided incantations in them, and a small packet of a powder that Crowley promised would be safe but which he doubted he would ever feel brave enough to use. He still had his doubts about the demon’s intentions from time to time, and he certainly didn’t want to go down in infamy as the angel who got everyone in Heaven hooked on narcotic powders.

He made his way back home, left instructions with his secretary for things to be done in his absence, and then made a show of riding off on his best horse as if he were off on his travels. Once he was firmly out of sight of any and all of the humans, he set the horse free with a gentle command to find its way back to the stables and blend in, and miracle himself up to Heaven to begin his great and glorious work.

\--

Gabriel was in that irritatingly heightened state he got into when he had come up with another new idea for team building or motivating his underlings. If regular Gabriel was hard to deal with, excited Gabriel was almost unbearable. He all but vibrated with self-importance and celebration, bestowing smiles and hearty claps on the shoulder to anyone he met.

“Principality!” he boomed jovially. “Glad you made it on time. Let me show you to where you’ll be working.”

He led the way through a winding series of corridors, each nearly indistinguishable from the next, past the library and on into an area Aziraphale had only rarely visited before – some kind of large, empty conference room, all white and chrome like the rest of Heaven, barely furnished except for a large stack of pillows and blankets someone had thrown in the middle of the room. Sitting in a half circle on the floor around the pile of bedding were eight nervous looking angels, low ranking guardians and office workers, obviously pulled from other duties and deposited here.

“Interns,” Gabriel announced. “This is Principality Aziraphale, former Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and our premiere expert on humanity. He’s here to introduce you to a human concept called sleep. Please give him your full attention and cooperate with everything he asks of you on this glorious new work. Questions?”

The angels jittered nervously and one fearfully shook her head. Aziraphale thought wryly that this was nearly the nicest thing Gabriel had ever said about him.

“Good then!” Gabriel said, whapping Aziraphale on the shoulder rather painfully. “I’ll check in on you later.”

He strode out of the room and the door sealed behind him.

“Good morning,” Aziraphale said nervously. “Shall we go around and introduce ourselves?”

\--

As the day went by, the gathered angels got less and less fearful. Most of them hadn’t met a Principality before, Aziraphale realized, and they were naturally deferential and timid. Over the course of a few hours, though, they began to loosen up and to realize that this angel, in particular, welcomed questions and comments.

After a few stretching and breathing exercises, one of them raised her hand and waited patiently to be noticed.

“Yes, Anielle is it?” Aziraphale said.

“I’m terribly sorry, Principality Aziraphale,” she said quietly, “but I don’t understand. What is sleep FOR? And why are we supposed to learn how to do it?”

Terribly good question, Aziraphale thought. He tried to remain professional, despite his doubts about the entire project. “No one really knows what purpose sleep serves, but without it humans sicken and die. Also, many of them seem to enjoy it immensely,” he said. “I believe the archangels think we might be able to influence the dreams of sleeping humans, to – well, to guide them towards goodness and help counter demonic influences.”

Another angel raised his hand.

“You don’t really need to raise your hands,” Aziraphale objected. All eight pairs of eyes stared at him uncomprehendingly. “Or for Heaven’s sake. Yes? Plavian?”

“Could we perhaps use it to frighten them back into the path of righteousness, as well?” the angel asked. “In extreme cases of course. Using the nightmares you mentioned earlier?”

About half of the other angels tittered approvingly. Anielle, to her credit, looked upset.

This Plavian, Aziraphale thought, had a bit of Gabriel in him. He was undoubtedly going to be moving up in the chain of command. He could smell the wanker gene on him from here.

“Humans can react very poorly to nightmares,” Aziraphale said crisply, “and providing and worsening them is really more of a demonic tactic than an angelic approach. We’ll focus on methods that don’t actively damage anyone’s psyche. Our Heavenly Mother wouldn’t want us to harm them.”

He stood up. “Now,” he said, “everyone take a blanket and a pillow and find a space to lie down. We’re going to try some relaxation exercises and see if we can get any of you to fall asleep.”

\--

Nothing worked. Nothing. They tried breathing exercises. They tried guided relaxation. They tried tensing and releasing each muscle in their bodies, starting with their feet and working their way up to their eyebrows. They tried calisthenics. They tried music. Finally, in desperation, Aziraphale magically dimmed the lights and read them all a story. He tried to pick a soothing one. A Tale of Two Cities should do, he thought.

The room was quiet and there was deep, even breathing all around when Aziraphale finished chapter two. He softly closed the book and stood up as quietly as possible, peeking around in the dim light. All eight of the angels were still, their hands folded on their chests, their eyes closed.

Were they – were they doing it?

As he leaned closer to the angel nearest him, he noted that she opened one eye just a crack and grinned up at him.

“I think I’m doing it!” she stage-whispered to him. “It feels really good!”

“It does!” someone else echoed from a far corner of the room. “I think I’m sleeping!”

“Me too!” said a third.

Aziraphale tried not to tear his hair out.

“Class dismissed for today,” he said. “Go home and try some of those relaxation exercises in the peace and quiet of your own abodes. We’ll try something new tomorrow.”

\--

“You want to do what?” Gabriel said.

“I want to bring in a meal for them,” Aziraphale said patiently. “Food makes humans tired, so maybe it will help get them into the proper state.”

Gabriel frowned. “This is highly irregular,” he said, “corrupting them with gross matter.”

“You did want me to be thorough,” Aziraphale said primly.

Gabriel waved his permission, and Aziraphale got to work.

\--

“Welcome back!” he said the next afternoon. “Today we’re going to expand our horizons a bit and try a meal.”

The angels filed in, looking curiously at the table Aziraphale had set up and its contents.

“What’s a meal?” one of the angels asked.

“It’s food! Humans consume it for sustenance.”

“So, it’s like the word of God?”

Aziraphale frowned. “Not exactly. Anyway, please take a seat around the table and let’s get started.”

He walked them through consuming a variety of dishes, taking a nibble here and there himself – fruits and vegetables, savory pies, cheeses and breads in various forms, sweets. The angels gamely tried everything, most of them looking somewhat unimpressed and trying to hide their distaste for the experience. One or two of them, though, took to the meal with slightly more gusto, taking seconds of some dishes and seeming to enjoy themselves. Aziraphale took note of these ones; they were potential future allies in his endeavors, he thought, and unlikely to be appreciated here in Heaven.

After they’d finished, they did some stretching and then he lowered the lights, had them all lay down, and he led them through the relaxation program from the prior day. He hoped that being warm, comfortable, and full would ease a few of them into sleep.

Aziraphale found himself fighting off a yawn. He really had been working frightfully hard the last few days.

\--

The principality woke up some indeterminate amount of time later with the most terrible sensation of being watched. He opened his eyes in a panic and found himself ringed by his students, with eight pairs of eyes staring down at him in complete fascination.

Aziraphale pushed himself up to seated.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” he said. “Did anyone besides me sleep?”

“No,” said one of the students. “But you did it very well, sir!”

“You were making the most curious noise,” another one added. “Kind of like this.” The student opened their mouth and started to make a rumbling noise that sounded a bit like an earthquake.

“No, I think it was more like this,” the original student one said, emitting a noise like a kitten purring, but loud.

“And you seem to have created a liquid,” added a third student. “It dripped out of your mouth onto your pillow. Is this part of the process?”

“We tried to touch your dreams,” Plavian said, “but it didn’t work.”

“NO ONE TOUCHES MY DREAMS,” Aziraphale said, leaping to his feet. The students backed away nervously; they had heard what a principality was capable of, in the general sense, and even more, they had all heard strange stories about Principality Aziraphale and his flaming sword. No one really wanted to see him angry.

“Oh, very well,” he said, pulling a leather pouch out of his robes. “Let’s try a little chemistry, shall we?”  
  


\--

“So in total,” Michael said sternly, “you’ve taken eight of our most promising young angels, sullied their corporations with cheese and bread, led several of them to believe that food is equivalent to the word of God, taught them heretical chanting techniques from the Eastern empires of Earth, and gotten several of them severely addicted to opium powder. Is that correct?”

Aziraphale looked at his feet and tried to appear repentant while inside he focused on one thought and one thought alone. He was going to murder the demon the next time he saw him. This was all his fault.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment: here’s a little background on the House of Wisdom in Baghdad – wonderful and heartbreaking and of course Aziraphale needs to be there! This is so much better and worse than the library of Alexandria... 
> 
> <https://theculturetrip.com/middle-east/iraq/articles/iraq-s-golden-age-the-rise-and-fall-of-the-house-of-wisdom/>


	20. Prompt: Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An outraged angel heads back to Baghdad to have it out with his demon companion. Part three of three for the mini-series Project Heavenly Slumbers.

Part 3: Project Heavenly Slumbers

Crowley was sitting in the market square in Baghdad when he felt a burst of angelic energy that he knew marked the incorporation of an entity from Above. Over time, he’d come to be able to differentiate Aziraphale’s arrival from that of the other angels who sometimes came down – Gabriel was easy to spot because of the unnecessary fanfare he allowed, and he’d learned through necessity to identify the sociopath Sandalphon and that scary bastard Michael. In comparison, Aziraphale’s energy signature was gentler, a calmer, more peaceful feeling.

Usually, that is. Today it felt like a punch in the gut.

Crowley swallowed nervously. That kind of feeling invariably meant that the angel was really, really angry. He wondered what Heaven had done now.

Only one way to find out. He made his farewells to the merchants he’d been discussing politics with, tucked his purchases into his pocket, and scented off after the angel’s trail like a bloodhound.

\--

He found him about an hour later in a tavern. The angel was seated in a sparsely populated outdoor courtyard, a clay cup of something in front of himself, and he looked rather like a thunderstorm waiting to break.

The angel did not look up as Crowley slid into a seat across from him.

“Hello Aziraphale,” he said cautiously. “Everything all right?”

“Come to gloat, did you?” the angel said, icily, not looking up from his drink.

Crowley blinked. “Gloat? What about?”

The angel looked up, his eyes a cold, hard blue. “You know exactly what about.”

Crowley laid out both hands in a gesture of seeming innocence. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” he said. “What did I do?”

Aziraphale picked up his mug, drained it with one deep, long swallow, and plunked a coin on the table before standing up and stalking away.

Crowley rolled his eyes and muttered something about drama before following the angel at a safe distance. Angry angels, even when it was Aziraphale, were not something to mess with, and he could tell from the set of his friend’s shoulders that he knew he was being followed.

Eventually, Aziraphale veered off into a walled public garden that offered a chance at some privacy, and Crowley followed him in. The angel led him deeper in, towards the edges of a pretty little fountain, looked around to ensure there were no other people around, and then whirled on the demon ferociously.

Crowley took a step back in spite of himself at the look on the angel’s face.

“You sabotaged me,” Aziraphale spat. “Don’t even pretend that you didn’t.”

Crowley made a face, ignoring a twinge of reflexive guilt. “Did not. What are you talking about?”

Aziraphale took a threatening step forward. “Your – your chants, and your powders got me in a lot of trouble, demon. And I think you did that on purpose.”

Crowley stepped back again. “You asked me for help!” he protested. “I gave you what you asked for!”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “And you didn’t think, in any part of you, that what you offered me was probably going to get me into a little bit of trouble? Chants from eastern heretical religions? A powder you didn’t happen to tell me was opium??”

The guilt become a little more front and center at that. Just a little demonic joke, that was all he had intended. He didn’t mean to get the angel in _trouble_.

Crowley shrugged helplessly. “’m a demon, Aziraphale! I’m supposed to cause a little mischief!” He swallowed and struggled to find a way of admitting remorse without actually saying the words. “Didn’t mean to cause any harm.”

Aziraphale made a noncoherent noise of frustration and rage and then threw himself down on a bench and buried his face in his hands.

Crowley watched him for a few seconds, and then took a careful step towards him. He didn’t quite dare to sit down next to him on the bench, so instead he sank down to sit on the grass beside him, just out of striking range if the angel should decide to smack him, but close enough to speak quietly. He folded his knees under him in case he needed to spring up suddenly to foil an attack. It had been millennia since they’d had an outright physical altercation, but the memory of it was still with him.

“Didn’t mean I wasn’t genuinely trying to help, though, angel,” he said. “What happened, anyways?”

The angel slumped and the anger seemed to click down a few notches. “No one could sleep. We tried everything – music, food, breathing, meditation, exercise. Eventually I let them try the powders – yes, I know you said to be careful with them – on a couple of occasions, which helped a bit, but still, the project was an abysmal failure.”

“No one slept?”

“No one but me,” Aziraphale said. “And then I got called to task for my heretical techniques, and the fact that I got several innocent guardian angels hooked on opium.” He glared balefully at the demon.

Crowley tried hard not to laugh. It wasn’t funny, he told himself. It really wasn’t.

“It’s not funny,” Aziraphale said, not fooled for a second. “You have no idea what they’re like up there. They’re awful! I’d rather face a demon.”

“What did they do to you?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, seeming embarrassed. “Various things. Multiple dressing downs, public shaming, slap on the wrist. Got demoted. They put Sandalphon in charge of finalizing things with Charlemagne, which will be a nightmare, and it will be ages before they give me anything truly interesting to do again. Shipping me off to Asia soon, since I’m apparently so interested in them.”

_That didn’t sound so bad,_ Crowley thought, but then again, he hadn’t really known Aziraphale to exaggerate in the past, and he’d gotten the impression here and there that some of his superiors were gigantic assholes. He had to imagine that whatever Aziraphale went through probably hadn’t been fun, even if Heaven didn’t deal with discipline issues by running you through with a pitchfork. In Hell’s defense, once they got through torturing you, they were generally pretty quick to act like nothing had ever happened. Heaven seemed keener on holding a grudge.

“I’m sorry, angel,” he said quietly. “I really didn’t mean to get you into trouble with the bosses.”

The angel sighed again. “I suppose you were just doing your job,” he said, sounding resigned. “My fault for asking a demon for help.”

That wasn’t quite the resolution he had been hoping for, Crowley thought, but it was better than the bitter recrimination of a few minutes ago. He made a mental note: the angel is off limits for playing tricks on. He underlined it, twice, highlighted it in bright yellow, and tucked it away in a mental folder called IMPORTANT STUFF. He would try not to make that mistake again.

Now to try to smooth over the scars he’d left behind by this blunder.

“You’re going to Asia?” he said. “Whereabouts? I think you might like it there, quite a bit, actually. I was there last century and some of what they’re doing in China right now is astonishing!”

Aziraphale looked him full in the eye for the first time, a bit of wariness still showing, but interested despite himself. “Oh really? I suppose we could go back to the tavern for another drink and you could tell me about it.”

“Sounds good, angel,” Crowley said.

“ _Not_ that I’m going to be taking any advice from you, mind you,” the angel said acerbically.

“No, no,” the demon agreed peacefully. “Wouldn’t dream of offering any.” He thought for a minute and extended a careful olive branch. “Although there’s a dish they make here that you really should try if you feel like having a nibble – it’s called a pastilla, made up of savory spiced chicken and eggs topped with almonds and cinnamon in a pastry shell. I think you’d like it… Care for a bite?”

Aziraphale made a noise of interest. The sun began to set behind them as they headed out of the garden, two almost-friends walking side by side through the deepening gloom, feeling their way back towards equilibrium.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I didn't truly expect to tie any of these together into an ongoing story -- that was an unexpected diversion! I hope you enjoyed the three connected prompts. We are going back to regular individual prompts tomorrow and through the rest of the month! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting!


	21. Prompt: Roadtrip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few different memorable road trips over the millennia (AKA "Pack Animals Hate Crowley")

_**Outside Thebes, 1500 BC** _

“Imagine running into you here!” a familiar voice said on the docks of the Red Sea port of Elim, in the kingdom of Egypt.

Crawly blinked and turned around, trying hard to not show how much he wanted to kneel down and kiss the ground, now that he was back on dry land. “Angel!” he said. “Did you just arrive as well?”

“I did, yes,” the angel said, peering at him closely. “You look a little green around the gills, Crowley. Are you all right?”

“Oh,” the demon demurred, trying to be cool. “You know. Boats and me. I’m fine!” He waved a hand and swallowed hard, fighting a wave of nausea.

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes, not fooled in the least. “You’re headed for Thebes, I expect? Come travel with my group, I’ve got a camel just for you.”

“A camel!” Crawly said. “I’d prefer to walk, thank you.”

“You’re not walking from here to Thebes. It’s the desert. You’ll die.”

“Well then I’ll fly!” Crawly said. “I can wait until nightfall.”

Aziraphale made a face filled with compassion underlain by the tiniest bit of mockery. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Crawly!” he purred. “I didn’t realize you were afraid of camels! How foolish of me to offer. They are rather terrifying beasts, I can see how a demon would be put off by one. I’ll just see if I can arrange for you to be taken over on an ass, would that be better?”

Crawly rolled his eyes, his bluff having been successfully called. Now that the angel was calling him a coward, there was no way he was going to do anything other than ride a freaking camel from here to Thebes. How wonderful, to have a reputation to uphold.

This led directly to Crawly finding himself bumping and rolling along in a group of about twenty on the world’s surliest camel, several hours later, holding desperately to the saddle horn in front of him and trying to find a rhythm which did not exist in the animal’s god-forsaken gait. The camel was draped in blankets and tassels and other accessories which served to make it look cute and harmless, but its appearance didn’t match its demeanor. Every chance it got, it turned around and bared its teeth at Crawly.

Aziraphale pulled up next to him for long stretches of the journey, offering him encouragement and advice. “Try scratching behind her ears!” he shouted helpfully. “Isn’t the scenery gorgeous?”

Gorgeous, the demon thought sulkily. He tried Aziraphale’s suggestion and the camel turned around and tried to bite him, causing him to wobble and almost lose his seat.

The camel (whose name was Sheba, of all things) came to a dead stop and looked him straight in the eye, assessing something. Crawly frowned and concentrated, pulling up every ounce of demonic threat he possessed and allowing his eyes to darken to a gleaming red for a moment, trying to convey the sense of immediate damnation if the bloody ungulate didn’t pull itself into line and immediately. The tar pits of hell were perfectly sized to fit a few dozen camels, after all.

The camel was completely unimpressed. Hell didn’t frighten Family Camilidae – they had met demons before, and there wasn’t a demon among the bunch who didn’t find camels to be meaner, trickier, and less trustworthy than their fellow inhabitants of the lower circles. Most demons would rather be roasted on a spit than end up in a one on one fight with a dromedary, no matter what they were armed with.

Crawly kept up the glower and bravado for as long as he could, and was somewhat relieved when the camel broke the stare-off first. Had he won? He sat up straighter in his seat, pleased with his courage – he had won! He was fairly sure he had won.

The camel had other ideas, breaking free of the path and heading directly for the cliffside overlooking the Red Sea.

“’ziraphale!” Crawly shouted, losing all pretense of being in control of this situation as he held on for dear life. “She’s trying to murder me!”

The camel lopped along at a surprising rate of speed until he got directly to the edge, then skidded to a halt, performing a complicated bucking maneuver that sent Crawly flying over her neck and down over the edge of the ravine.

“Oh dear,” Aziraphale murmured, calling the caravan to a stop. “Stupid Sheba! This can’t be good!”

He dismounted and ran to the edge, to look for his friend.

Crawly was alive, about 20 feet down on a small rocky ledge that had broken his long fall to the river. He waved a hand weakly at Aziraphale but seemed unable to get up from where he was lying, a cloud of dust around him obscuring the extent of his injuries.

Somehow his words drifted up to reach the angel’s ears.

“Bloody…. Camels…” he moaned. “Can’t anyone invent something better than this?”

Aziraphale put a slight miracle on the entire party, distracting them from what he was doing as he flew down to rescue his companion and “help” him back up to the party. Time to put Crawly safely on a litter and with a substantial pain block for the rest of the journey. Once they reached Thebes, he would nurse the demon back to health.

\--

_**Scotland, 1730** _

Usually, Crowley and Aziraphale traded duties whenever they could when their assignments involved long stretches of travel, but sometimes they had no choice but to carry out their duties themselves, even if they were headed to the same area. And so they found themselves both called to Scotland, on their way to Edinburgh to attempt to influence a series of rich nobles to their own aims.

Nothing said they couldn’t travel together, though. They took a rough carriage as far as Northumberland, then were handed a set of fine horses by one of George II’s lords to take them the rest of the way.

“Can’t we just – you know, snap our fingers and show up in a nice, cozy inn in Edinburgh?” Crowley groused.

Aziraphale looked somewhat sympathetic. He wasn’t a huge fan of horses either, although he had to admit that having some extra padding in his hips and thighs probably made the ride a lot more comfortable for him that it was for a bony specimen like Crowley. And he did enjoy the fresh air and the scenery.

“I don’t think we should,” he said. “It would definitely draw the attention of Above if I miracled myself directly to the castle three days early. And then they might notice that I had a demon with me for the whole trip, which could lead to questions, and that could be –”

“Oh, all right, all right,” Crowley snapped, knowing he was right. He did, though, magic himself up a little extra blanket on top of the saddle of the large thoroughbred he was riding. She was a mare, high spirited and a lovely dark brown. Although better than a camel, she obviously objected to having a snake demon on her back, which she showed by rolling her eyes and wickering madly whenever he came to mount her, and then either plodding along at a maddeningly slow speed or racing at breakneck pace ahead. She outright refused to do anything Crowley asked, but would, infuriatingly, obey like a sweet little lamb whenever Aziraphale intervened.

The angel’s horse, a large chestnut stallion in fine form and fettle, gave him no trouble whatsoever. And don’t think that Crowley didn’t notice how smug Aziraphale appeared about this sometimes. He did. He filed each and every instance of smug away in his mental files, to be revenged upon later.

After the horse threw Crowley for the third time in three days, Aziraphale had to admit defeat. They were simply going to have to find another form of transportation before Crowley ended up discorporated on the side of the road.

“Shaddup, angel,” the demon said irritably as he picked himself up out of the ditch and brushed off a combination of sodden vegetation and rot. “It’s not my fault, she just _hates_ me.”

The gorgeous mare stomped her front hooves and made a noise of agreement. She did hate him. She really did.

“I can see that,” Aziraphale said. “Shame, really, you and horses. They’re such a convenient way to get around.”

“For _you,_ maybe.”

The angel moved to take the reins of both horses and began leading them down the road. “Can you walk, my dear?” he asked.

Crowley grunted his assent and began limping down the road, putting Aziraphale’s broad form between him and the animals. If he was lucky, they could make it to the next town without one of the horses kicking him in the head.

“Great,” he sighed. “Walking. Even slower and more tortuous.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Aziraphale said pleasantly. “I rather enjoy walking. And it’s only an hour or two until the next village. Then we will try to get you onto an ox cart or something.”

Crowley was not to be mollified. He leaned back and spread his arms. “Could _someone_ please invent _something_ to make these fucking horses obsolete?” he shouted at the sky. “I’d consider it a personal favor!”

\--

**_London, 2020_ **

Crowley pulled up in front of the bookshop and, feeling insouciant, laid on the horn instead of going up to the front door to knock. He hopped out of the car and leaned against the bonnet, grinning broadly as Aziraphale appeared at the front door, frowning and looking affronted.

“Is this what we’ve come to now?” the angel asked acerbically. “The romance is over? No more coming in to greet me, you just blurt the horn until I come outside?”

Crowley grinned and produced a bag of pastries from behind his back.

“Oh, well then,” Aziraphale said with a wriggle. “You’re forgiven!”

“Let’s go for a drive, angel,” the demon said enticingly.

Aziraphale pretended indifference. “I’m not so sure about that, my dear,” he said. “You’re such a frightening driver, after all. Why would I want to do that?”

“There are three excellent reasons for you to go on a drive with me, angel,” Crowley said, his mood too perky for the angel’s game playing to make a dent. “Number one, it’s a beautiful day! Number two, I know an excellent place in the country where we can get crepes, about two hours north of here. Right where that really interesting inn used to be in the 18th century – do you remember? Rosie and Violet and their roadside inn?”

Aziraphale cast back and encountered the memory of good stew, cool ale, and excellent company. “I do!” he said. “That was such a lovely place.”

“Well now there’s a restaurant there, same plot of land. Shame you’ve never been there,” the demon said coyly. “Should really do something about that.”

“And reason three?” the angel said, smiling.

Crowley walked over and swung open the passenger door. “Reason three? It’s a CAR. An automated vehicle with horsepower but no horses!” He gestured at the leather interior. “Sitting comfortably, a tin of biscuits in your lap, while we zoom through the countryside with nothing to bite you or buck you or try to kill you with its bad temper?”

“Crowley, my dear, you know I’ve seen your car approximately a thousand times before,” Aziraphale pointed out.

“Shaddup, I’m having a moment here!” Crowley said. “Can’t we just stop and appreciate now and then that we are not on the back of an animal when we have to get from point A to point B?”

Aziraphale laughed. “I see you woke up in quite a mood today.”

Crowley grinned at him. “Get in the car, angel. Places to go, people to see.”

Aziraphale stopped feigning resistance and allowed himself to be ushered into the car, his door to be carefully shut behind him, and his seat belt to be adjusted for maximum comfort. The demon was in rare high spirits, and he wasn’t truly going to resist participating in them for anything in the world.


	22. Prompt: Culture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley find something unexpected in the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this tumblr post:
> 
> <https://tlou15.tumblr.com/post/619512844312051712/i-need-fics-about-this-zeckarin-blaise>
> 
> and the response from TLou, asking me and a few other authors to please write them something about this.

There were times when being an ethereal entity capable of dying and recorporating came back to bite you in the ass.

Over the years, Crowley and Aziraphale had become increasingly good at limiting their discorporations. It took a few centuries of practice, however, to learn to recognize and avoid the obvious dangers in this new world of theirs. At first, the fatal accidents were more frequent and somewhat unexpected. A fall from a high cliff (demon), simply because neither of them knew that a fall could kill them. A rather unnecessary drowning (angel), simply because the entity in question didn’t know that failing to hold one’s breath underwater would result in discorporation. A kick in the head from a large land ungulate (demon) with a grudge. A rather deep spear injury (angel) that could have simply been side stepped. The list went on and on.

Luckily, Above and Below were also somewhat more accommodating and liberal with the issuing of new bodies than they came to be later on.

As time passed, they got to better at the protocols of losing a body, too. Go back to home base, fill out the paperwork (in triplicate, for hell, using a scratchy pencil whose point always broke off), be polite (in Heaven) or surly (in Hell) to the body clerk, and get a new one issued as quickly as possible. Make your way back to Earth and then go back and clean up the scene of the crime, so to speak, so you didn’t leave the remnants of an ethereally-issued skeleton around. Tidy up the memories of anyone involved in the incident, and reassume your old life if possible, or, if a funeral had already been held and too many people were involved, simply move on to a new location or assignment. It all worked out.

For the most part.

Being, as they were, two of the more lackadaisical, non-detail oriented entities ever stationed in this sphere, though, it was natural that here and there a few of the details got missed.

Which is what led to the two of them, standing in front of an exhibit in the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History, filled with a deep sense of foreboding.

“Is that…” Crowley muttered.

“No, it couldn’t possibly be…” Aziraphale said under his breath.

“I’m fairly certain it is…”

“Oh, dear lord,” Aziraphale breathed. “Yes, that’s one of mine!”

In front of them, an exhibit on the Mayans did an admirable job showcasing their culture and achievements, dispelling the pervasive myths of human sacrifice, and above all showing a recreation of a temple display used to honor their dead. By punching holes in each side of a series of skulls and stringing them on a pole, like beads, to be displayed and revered.

And right smack in the center, oddly devoid of the same signs of aging and decay as the ones around it, was a brilliant white skull that bore more than a passing resemblance to the man staring at it in horror through the glass. To the human observers, it just appeared oddly pristine. But to Crowley and Aziraphale and any other ethereal entity who bothered to take a look, it was pulsing with remnants of celestial energy.

Crowley dissolved in laughter. This earned him a stern glare from the angel.

“What?” he said, snorting. “Your skull is hanging like a pendant on a stick in the Natural History Museum and I can’t laugh? How could you just leave one of your skulls laying around in – in what? Peru? Where did this come from?”

Aziraphale sniffed. “Mexico, I believe. I spent some time there, in San Lorenzo, the first Olmec capital.”

“You did?” Crowley asked. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

“We weren’t speaking at the time,” Aziraphale said. “Remember that big fight we had in Persia?”

“Oh, that…” Even after several thousand years, Crowley still managed to sound vaguely resentful. “You mean when you clocked me unconscious with your fist?”

“You hit me first!”

“Not the same, and you know it,” Crowley sulked. Being hit by a snake demon who was not bred for fighting was nothing like being punched in the jaw by the Guardian of the Eastern Gate. It was like being hit by a locomotive – although the comparison wouldn’t come to him for a few thousand years.

Aziraphale glanced over at him, taking in the sulky look on the demon’s face. “Oh come now, my dear,” he pouted. “We’ve long sense settled that particular kerfuffle. I apologized multiple times, didn’t I?”

Crowley mouthed the word ‘kerfuffle’ to himself with a grin. “I suppose we did, yes.” He stepped over a few feet and read the long and detailed card about the skulls in front of them. “Oh angel, listen to this.”

He read from the placard:

> Called a tzompantli by the Mayans, these ritual displays were believed to be used to showcase were originally thought to be a grotesque display of slain enemies, placed to rally the Mayan’s support for their leaders and to serve as a warning sign to others to stay away from Mayan territory. Although rumors have abounded about human sacrifice in Mayan culture, recent evidence reveals that these displays may have been more funerary in usage, highlighting the revered ancestors and that many of these skulls shows signs of being dead long before the post-holes were cut in them.

“How, pray tell, did you become one of the honored dead for the Mayans?” Crowley said, grinning. “Or were you actually sacrificed at one of their temples? Drowned in a cenote?”

Aziraphale frowned. “That’s a story for another time, my dear.”

“Oh, but I haven’t even gotten to the good bit. The part where they talk about the gleaming white skull in the center and how it shows signs of having been treated with some unknown and lost technology that made it ‘impervious to decay’.” Crowley chortled.

“I really should find a way to remove it from the display,” Aziraphale fretted. “Before someone decides to take a closer look at it under one of those – scanning microscope thingies they have now and discovers it doesn’t appear to be fully human. Or before one of the archangels finds out about it…”

“Ha!” Crowley shouted. “Imagine the uproar. Evidence of ancient aliens discovered in Smithsonian Museum! The chaos around the world!”

Aziraphale turned fully towards Crowley and looked menacing in the way that only he could. “Whatever foolish idea you’re forming right now for mischief,” he said warningly, “I absolutely forbid it!”

“Aw, angel,” Crowley whined. “Come on, I never get to have any fun.”

“You can have some fun by helping me pilfer this exhibit once the museum is closed tonight,” Aziraphale said. “I do believe the security here is rather prodigious.”

“You intend to rob the museum on our vacation?” Crowley asked, astonished. “You could just… you know… miracle the skull out, replace it with a duplicate.”

Aziraphale studied the exhibit for a long slow moment, considering, then turned and settled a blinding grin on his demon spouse. “I could,” he drawled, “but where would the fun be in that?”

Crowley felt a warm rush of something run through him. Love? Joy? Slight anxiety? Who knew. All he knew was the angel was quite possibly the most perfect thing on the entire Earth. No, in the galaxy. Quite possibly the galactic cluster.

“So,” the angel continued. “Are you in or out?”

“I’m in,” Crowley managed to croak, through his haze of _feelings_. “I’m so in.”

Aziraphale rewarded him with a peck on the cheek, then offered his arm to the demon and shepherded him down to the café, murmuring something about having heard they had the loveliest cakes here. Time to do a little planning, and what better way then over a little dessert?


	23. Prompt: Apocalypse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley launch a plan to rob the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History on their trip to Washington DC. It doesn't go quite as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is part two of the previous prompt, in which Aziraphale and Crowley found an old skull that interested them. Only really loosely related to today's prompt - I realize I'm stretching the prompts a bit here. :)
> 
> Also, if you're having difficulty picturing what I'm talking about with the Mayan skull rack, they look something like [the image you see here](https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.worthpoint.com%2Fworthopedia%2Fmexican-aztec-mayan-skull-trophy-rack-1851460159&psig=AOvVaw2tfsJLFsVGCso-3Rp-3H_4&ust=1591070431645000&source=images&cd=vfe&ved=0CAIQjRxqFwoTCLjv8Lrd3-kCFQAAAAAdAAAAABAJ), except with real skulls. We saw a few in a museum when we were on vacation in Mexico in February.

They hunkered down in the museum’s café, over a gaudy orange tray that held two lovely napoleons and two cups of a rather poor excuse for tea, and started making plans.

Aziraphale surveyed the room around them. “We could just – you know, hide somewhere until everything is closed tonight. Saves breaking in.”

Crowley took a sip of his tea, made a disgusted face, and nodded neutrally. “We could, of course. That’d be the sensible thing to do.” He took a smaller sip. “Or, we could really go for it. Assemble a crack team, get some tech, do that thing with carabiners and cables.” He mimed a Tom Cruise, Mission Impossible style, arms-out float down from the ceiling and managed to convey that he would also be holding a knife in his teeth at the same time.

Aziraphale smiled, noncomittally. “Well that _does_ sound exciting, my dear. But I can’t quite imagine that we have time to set that all up by tonight. And I do think we ought to get my skull out of there as soon as possible. It could hardly be a coincidence, don’t you think, our running into it here today?”

Crowley frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, just that we have a way of stumbling onto things at exactly the right moment,” the angel said. “Who’s to say that if we put the recovery off for a week, we wouldn’t somehow have Gabriel leading a team of school children through here tomorrow for some reason and discovering it, or some stupid Earth magician about to steal it for his own magical purposes?”

Crowley blinked at him. “You’re saying it’s fate that we came here today and that we’re not meant to leave without the skull? It’s not Armageddon, angel.”

Aziraphale took a bite of his napoleon and then delicately tapped the edges of his mouth with the napkin. “Well,” he said, leaning forward. “Doesn’t it feel a bit _urgent_ to you? I mean, underneath it all?”

Crowley had to admit, the angel had a point. It did seem like an unlikely coincidence that they had stumbled upon the skull when they did.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “No tech. Can we at least synch our watches or something?”

Aziraphale stared at him flatly for a moment and then pulled out his ancient pocket watch, complete with chain. “If we must.”

Crowley grinned.

\--

It was funny, Crowley thought, that it was Aziraphale who insisted they be appropriately attired for their heist. They’d hidden themselves away in a maintenance wing close to the Mayan exhibit, and Aziraphale had first used a miracle to suit them both up in black, skintight cat-burglar type outfits, then covered those up with maintenance worker uniforms and caps which made them fit right in. No one would give them a second look.

“Stop fidgeting with your coveralls, Crowley!” the angel hissed, handing him a push broom. “You look very suspicious. Now get out there and let’s figure out where all of the cameras are.”

It was nearly closing time, and no one noticed anything awry when they wheeled their carts out into the Mayan area, put up bright yellow “Wet Floor” signs, and started sweeping up the debris of the day. A quick miracle made them completely unnoticeable to the other maintenance staff – just two ordinary guys, no different than the guys they saw every day working this area, obviously well underway on their evening chores and with no need of any further supervision.

Soon enough, the building was closed down and even the maintenance staff was putting away their equipment and getting ready to leave through the service entrance, leaving the building in the hands of the security staff. Crowley and Aziraphale made themselves scarce in a storage closet, until all the sounds in the building had ceased. Then they took off their coveralls and headed out to the exhibit in their dark-colored gear.

A quick miracle took care of the cameras, shifting them just slightly so that they showed everything _except_ the skulls display. After that, they stood in front of the glass case, examining it closely.

Aziraphale rolled his shoulders. “Shall I just dissemble the case, then?” he asked quietly, reaching up to place his hands on either corner of the front panel.

“No!” Crowley all but shrieked. “Stop! Look, there’s a laser, right there.” He pointed at a small blue light that was shining on the edge of the glass door, just above the lock. “Clearly if the door is opened and the light beam gets interrupted, an alarm will go off. Don’t you watch movies, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale dropped his hands and stepped back. “Not unless you make me, no. So, what do we do about this laser?”

Crowley thought for a minute. What would James Bond do? Shoot someone and kiss a girl, probably. He failed to see how either was helpful at this point in the process. And if he was kissing _anyone_ , it was going to be the angel, and he had that activity slated for quite a bit later in the evening. He sighed. What was the world coming to when even James Bond couldn’t provide insight?

Aziraphale looked at him, a little worried, and that spurred him into action. Crowley held out his pointer finger and concentrated until a demonic claw sprang into existence where his finger nail should be. He sharpened it, made it harder, and whittled it down to a fine, fine point.

“Stand back, angel,” he said. “If we can’t open the door without setting off the laser alarm, we’re just going to go in above that.”

And feeling just like every bad-ass heist hero he’d ever watched in a movie, Crowley started carving a large circular hole in the glass case in front of him. This normally wouldn’t work on the specialized shatter-proof glass that the museum used, but the one thing the special chemistry of the glass wasn’t prepared to repel was demonic intention. It cut before him like butter, silently and gently, until a large, 12” circle of glass fell loose in his other hand.

Crowley turned and handed the removed glass circle to Aziraphale, who carefully put it on the floor and gave the demon a bright smile.

“Oh, that was very nice, dear,” he whispered. “Very slick.”

“Now,” Crowley said, aware he was showing off a little bit, “we just reach in there and remove your skull from the pole –”

He stuck his hand through and then froze as several things happened at once.

One, a large alarm started blaring.

Two, they both suddenly realized that the skull was affixed to the horizontal pole through both sides of the brainpan, and that they could neither straight-out remove it nor could they slide it off the pole because of the number of other skulls hanging from the same pole on either side of it.

Three, a huge puff of some kind of gas came shooting out of the display case, hitting Crowley directly in the eyes. He dropped to the floor like a stone.

Aziraphale, having a split second more warning than Crowley did, immediately stopped breathing, picked up his demon, and bent time and space to manifest them both back to their hotel. He put the demon down on the bed, covered him up, ensured he was breathing, and then realized he’d forgotten the skull.

“Oh FUCK,” he exclaimed, using the word for what was only the third time in his life. He snapped again, miracling himself back to the scene of the crime, and used magic to remove the central skull (and a portion of the pole with it) from the display. He had just raised a hand to disappear himself home when three security guards with guns drawn came running into the room.

“Freeze!” the shouted, their flashlight beams playing over him. “Hands up and turn around!”

Aziraphale turned slowly. “I can’t put my hands up, as you can see --” he called out in his most soothing voice, blinking through the blinding beams of light to try to see who he was dealing with, “-- because I am holding a rather priceless artifact. Please stay calm.”

He heard the safety on a gun click off and did his best to raise both hands and the pole with it over his head. The skull – _his_ skull, disturbingly – rattled ominously as he did so. This was most offputting, he thought.

“Kneel!” the frontmost officer shouted, and Aziraphale sighed and rolled his eyes at the absurdity of all of this, but did so, carefully balancing the – his – skull overhead the whole time.

“Really, gentlemen,” he said quietly, using a tad of angelic influence. “We can talk this out. No need for those weapons.”

“You can talk it out with the police,” the front man said. “Lay down the artifact in front of you VERY SLOWLY.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I’m so sorry, but I’m rather afraid I can’t do that. You see this skull is nearly three thousand years old and if it touches the ground it might be damaged.”

“Lay it down, NOW!” the man screamed, and Aziraphale suddenly noticed a couple of red laser sight dots playing about on his chest, targeting various vital organs. This, he decided was getting much too serious.

Oh botheration. He usually left this kind of manipulation to Crowley to carry out – he was _so_ much better at it. Nonetheless, Crowley was home and unconscious and possibly injured, and he wasn’t helping anyone by allowing himself to be shot or captured, and there was no way it was going to get back to heaven that he had been arrested – and for BURGLARY! – so with a deep, dejected sigh, he conjured up his powers and sent a wave of gentle but unavoidable exhortation and watched as all three men froze in place.

He slowly made his way to his feet, cradling the skull to his chest with one arm, and walked over to the exhibit, where he created and inserted an identical but non-ethereal copy of the skull and pole he’d removed, replaced and repaired the glass, and turned off the alarm. He checked the cameras to ensure that they were all still off. They were. And finally he walked over to the three armed men and gently touched each of them on the temple, one after the other.

“You will not remember the events of the last fifteen minutes,” he said, poking around the tiniest bit to ensure that this was true. “You will wake in a few minutes, after having a lovely dream about whatever you like best. Oh, and you will be especially nice to your partners and/or pets when you get home tonight, for no particular reason.”

And with that done, he returned to the hotel to tend to his demon.

\--

Crowley woke up a few hours later, groggy and confused. “Angel?” he shouted, leaning up to look frantically around the room. “Angel?”

“Hush, dearest, I’m here,” Aziraphale said, sitting down on the bed beside him.

“What happened?”

“Oh, well,” the angel said. “We got interrupted. You set off a second alarm when you reached into the case and were sprayed with some gas that essentially knocked you out for a few hours. I brought you home and then went back for the skull.”

Crowley moaned and flopped his head back down on the pillow. “You mean – I missed everything? You went back without me? Angel, how _could_ you?”

“You were unconscious, my dear,” the angel said reasonably. “And it wasn’t so hard. I removed the skull, put in a duplicate, wiped the memories of the three security guards who were thinking about shooting me, and popped back home, quick as a jiffy. No harm done.”

“Three men with guns?” Crowley said, looking suddenly very alert. “You went back alone to face three Americans with guns? You know how they are, angel.”

Aziraphale tutted. “Well in my defense, there were no men with guns when I left, so they were a bit of a surprise. However, I assure you that I was never in any danger. I turned their bullets to marshmallows as soon as they entered the room.”

“Marshmallows,” said Crowley flatly. “Really?”

“What’s wrong with that?” the angel asked, a tad indignantly. “I thought it was a rather nice solution to the problem.”

“Not very criminal of you,” Crowley muttered. He looked, the angel thought, jealous and pouty.

Aziraphale smiled softly. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to finish the heist with me, my dear. It would have gone so much more smoothly if you were there.”

“’m good at heists,” Crowley mumbled.

“The very best,” Aziraphale said, wondering if he was laying it on too thick. “Definitely as good as anyone in the Bond films.”

“Only _as_ good?” the demon said, with the hint of a smile.

“Oh, definitely better than some,” Aziraphale replied. “I’d say you’re head and shoulders above Roger Moore, Timothy Dalton, and Pierce Brosnan.”

The demon preened a little, although he was clearly trying to hide it. “And Sean Connery?” he asked.

“Hrm,” the angel said, consideringly. “I’d say you’d give him a good run for his money.”

Crowley sat up more fully, looking much more like himself. “And let’s not even start on Daniel Craig,” he said. “Hey, do you think the hotel television has movie channels? Maybe we can find a couple Bond films to watch before we eat dinner.”

“Might be wise of us to lay low tonight,” the angel said. “After all you were injured and we did just break into the Smithsonian. Perhaps we’ll order room service instead of going out.”

“Dinner and a movie?” Crowley said.

“That sounds just lovely.”

In the corner, in a duffel bag, a blindingly white skull with two large holes in it just above the ear canal sat quietly, a piece of ancient wood tucked carefully in beneath it. They’d take it back to London, Aziraphale had decided, and find some way to dispose of it there, or simply lock it up in one of Anathema’s spell-guarded chests if they couldn’t destroy it. It could take up a new life beneath the floorboards of the bookshop, somewhere where no one could find it or use it to cause them any trouble.

They were safe as houses, Aziraphale thought, problem averted. But just in case, he carefully warded the doors and windows as soon as dinner had been delivered so that no one could enter or leave for the rest of the night.

You could never be too careful.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, I only got 23 of the 31 prompts done, but I'm officially calling this snippet set closed for now. Most of the rest confounded me in some way, but I'm happy with the ones I finished! I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> I'm planning to do another snippet set for Christmas 2020, so stay tuned!


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